


make a memory of me

by auralure



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, Romance, but i wrote it so, except they're never really in school in this fic, its not as sad as it sounds i think, minor Minsang, the flow is kinda messed up mingi would be disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auralure/pseuds/auralure
Summary: Wooyoung’s heart swirls around the shackles of the hundreds of yesterdays he can’t remember, and San pushes aside his own heartache to anchor him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please enjoy what very little knowledge i have of anything

i. 

_i’m not the me you’re used to  
_ _the me that knows all of you_

The purples of the sunrise fade into the jaded waters, blurring the slowing billows into the horizon. Waves crash softly upon the shores, receding as calmly as it comes in. Wooyoung has always been fond of the beach, a place neither this nor that, only truly serving one purpose to him: an escape from calamity. The sea, he finds, is something of a thief. Something that takes without mercy when you’re not conscious enough to register the pull, too wrapped up in the other wonders of the universe. But here, everything was peaceful, nothing could hurt him here.

He stills himself in the solitude, digging his feet into the sand. The languid rise of the sun gently warms his skin, balanced by the cool breeze. Tranquility is food to the soul, the endpoint of all journeys, after cycles of torment and anguish, living in dreams and trudging through reality. Wooyoung misses the sun, ached for it in never-ending bouts of darkness. Even in times where it would peek out through the tiny cracks of his shadows, it would never be quite right. The warmth would never touch his cheeks the way he’d wanted, it never felt _real_.

He feels like he’s floating in between time and space, where there’s no rush to be anything or anywhere, nothing to constrict his desperate need for a sliver of freedom. For the first time in a while, he feels at peace.

But it’s still weird, _off_. The birds, the cozy sand, the mellow rippling of the waves. It’s too perfect, too good to be true.

Wooyoung also finds that tranquility, as much as it’s desired, never lasts. Certainly not when those jades dim dismally, now glazed with hunger in its wake. The tide rolls in and Wooyoung trips over earthly yellows, scrambling onto his feet as consciousness tugs at every inch of his body. He runs but the waves still surge forward, swallow him in their murky greys, and pull him down by their frigid, unrelenting grip. He wonders just how many fall for the guise.

And the sea, he confirms, only ever takes. 

His rise to consciousness is more like a clamber, abrupt and all at once. His eyes don’t keep up with the pace however, eyelids heavier than he’s ever remembered, top lashes clinging tightly onto the bottom ones. He squeezes them harder before he tries to open them again, but when he does, for a while all he sees is white. There are muffled voices, close but distant at the same time, some familiar one second, and all familiar the next.

When he blinks three more times there are three pairs of eyes on him, all widening at the same time that he struggles to open his own. And then there’s a commotion, arms flinging around him, a heavy weight crushing down on him. There’s rushed speaking and near-sobbing but Wooyoung doesn’t understand any of it, has no clue where he is or what’s going on. When the weight lifts off of him, San comes into view once more, with an unfamiliar heartbreak in his eyes, a slow tear escaping from one. “Why are you crying?” Is the first thing he tries to say, but his voice doesn’t make it above a whisper and barely through the entire sentence, dropping out sporadically. His hand flies to his throat, eyebrows knitting at the hoarseness.

A surge of pain shoots through his body when he attempts to sit up from the bed but doesn't even get more than a centimeter away from his pillow, immediately being stopped by Yeosang, who sits on the other side of the bed. “Don’t get up yet.” He hears Yeosang’s voice filter into his ear, clearer this time. There’s a shakiness in his voice that shocks Wooyoung back to complete consciousness. He looks around the room, watches as everything triples, taking a length of time to settle into one coherent image.

No recognition. This isn’t his room, nor is it a room he’s ever known. There are ugly browns against off whites; it’s big, but not enough to stop the feeling of suffocation. After multiple attempts to speak but his voice failing him, he lets his friends explain the situation briefly. Their words filter in and out of his mind, some information he latches onto while others float back into the air.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Mingi questions, and Wooyoung has never remembered him to be anywhere near this soft-spoken. “In complete detail.”

Wooyoung tries to run his mind back, but there’s a loud ringing in his ears and his head is throbbing so badly he can barely hear his own thoughts. His voice still comes out in scratchy whispers, “I-I... finals... fall term. Third year...”

He watches as everyone’s eyes go wide once more, all of them exchanging glances with each other. “Yeosang, get the doctor.” Mingi says quietly, and Yeosang slips out of the room with a pained look on his face. The other turns back to him, “The last thing you remember is your third year finals?”

“Yeah..” Wooyoung says, less sure, even though the last thing in his memory is the last exam he’d taken. He remembers that, right? But the harder he tries, the harder it is to grasp at the details. “Two weeks ago.. I missed… so much…” The panic starts to kick in, and he fumbles in trepidation for a bit longer before he catches San’s eyes and sees a twinge of discomfort? Almost hurt, as the hands that were once holding tightly onto his retreat slowly, and the smiling face that he’s so used to detaches itself from any kind of relief.

Another rush of confusion follows when the doctors flow into the room, followed by his mother and Yeosang. And then the headache comes back.

The first few days after waking up are a blur to Wooyoung. He’d only been able to keep his eyes open for short periods of time, though it’s gradually gotten longer. He’s gotten most of his voice back, but that doesn’t stop the people around him from urging him to take a break from speaking, or from anything physical for that matter.

Wooyoung sits in the quiet of his hospital room, broken only barely by the soft snores coming from his mom on the couch. Most of his friends had gone home, save for San, who’s still seated at his bedside, looking distant and deafened by a cacophony of thoughts.

“What’s with you?” Wooyoung tries to snap him out of it. San flinches slightly, hands kept meekly on his lap. “All three of you have been acting weird since we found out about the whole amnesia thing.”

The news was like a thousand simultaneous lightning bolts from the sky, blasting him at once, sending him into pure confounded panic. _Retrograde amnesia_. Two words he’d never thought he’d hear during the course of his life, didn’t think they’d ever be uttered to _him_. The thought had never crossed his mind, the prospect that one day he’d wake up and not remember some of the most important things in his life, like starting grad school when he can’t even recall a single moment from his graduation.

“Wooyoung… your memory regressed three years. That’s a _lot_ of memories lost.” San says almost inaudibly, fingers picking at the stray fabric sticking out of his jeans. Every word out of the older is like a nagging sensation picking at him in the back of his mind, and he can’t quite shake it. This is the first time San has even looked him in the eye since they found out about his memory loss, and maybe it’s the amnesia, but San has never felt more like a stranger to him than in this moment. Wooyoung can’t adjust to a San that isn’t comfortable around him, that looks like he doesn’t belong there.

San is six years of memories to Wooyoung and yet he can’t even recall three of them, no matter how much he tries to wrack his brain for answers. And they’re still close friends in Wooyoung’s mind, nothing will change that. But it holds a different meaning to San, it has so much more depth and so much more time that Wooyoung feels bad for not being able to give back that same kind of intensity. San’s Wooyoung is a person of his own, and the one lying down in this terrible hospital bed is just a hollow shell.

His heart hurts, but he still tries to smile through it. “How much could’ve changed in three years? We’re all still the same, we’re all still friends. The way you act around me should be the same too.” He attempts to reassure him, but it’s clear that his voice has lost its usual edge—there’s worry laced in the undertones and it has to be enough for San to know that he’s just as perturbed. 

“But—”

“And I’m not taking classes this semester so that gives me a lot of time to get back on track.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Things are going to come back to me, San.” Wooyoung’s voice rises just a smidge, along with some built up frustration, adamant on bringing about a sense of normalcy in the midst of whatever the hell was happening to his brain. He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a second. “Maybe it’ll be slow, maybe it’ll be a lot slower than I want. But it’ll all come back.”

And he knows, that three years is a long time. He wasn’t the same person in third year as he was in first, surely he’s different in some way today. There are moments of bliss, and hurt, and struggle floating around somewhere in the universe and Wooyoung can’t take a hold of them. But the people around him worry too much, and the only way he can ease their minds through all of this is to show them that he’s okay, even when nothing feels okay at all.

He tries to console himself, even if it means picking at scraps to make him feel better, but there’s nothing to grab at. There’s so much of his life that is his alone, that only he remembers because they’d been _his_ adventures. Jung Wooyoung is a capsule, of good and bad, of happiness and misery, of feelings and recollections that only he can understand. He’s made up entirely out of his past experiences, the ones that are real to him in the way he’d perceived them, the way he’d distinguished them as memories of his own.

But memories are so easily lost to the void, so quick to slip out of his fingertips to the point where he has to even wonder if they were real. So if Wooyoung can’t even tell for himself all of the things that make him who he is, then how is anyone else supposed to know?

It’s now that he realizes just how lonely he is, and nothing has ever hurt so much. 

* * *

Wooyoung is discharged a few weeks later, after some rest and rehabilitation, and San takes him home while his mom and his roommates are at work. His mouth had hung open as soon as he’d gotten out of the car, neck craning up towards the balcony of his supposed apartment suite, one that he never remembered moving into. The last he’d remembered, he was living with his mom at home, not in an apartment with Yeosang and Mingi.

“You moved out last April, and nagged me to help you decorate your room and decide where to stick your bed.” San had told him, which held questionable credibility, because often times San had rather unconventional interior design ideas.

The older nudges the door to what Wooyoung assumes is his bedroom, lugging the bag of his things inside with him. It’s weird, to walk into your own room and not feel like it’s yours. He looks around the room, trying to commit every corner to memory. Above his desk there’s a large corkboard, with a bunch of to-do lists pinned up, along with random pictures of him and his friends. But it feels sort of empty—there’s a suspicious gap in the middle of it, like there’s something that’s supposed to be there. Wooyoung has always been a stickler for symmetry, there’s no way he wouldn’t have fixed it. “Did I make that gap on purpose? Because it’s really throwing me off.” 

San looks over it briefly, but his eyes flicker away shortly after. “Not sure.” And then he makes his way out of the room, “Come on, let’s eat lunch.”

Wooyoung frowns at the diversion, but follows him into the kitchen anyways, where San takes out a stack of lunchboxes and a thermos, organizing them onto the table. His eyes widen at the sight, “Did you make all of that?”

“I was up early and I had time.” He says simply, motioning for him to sit down at the small table.

“When’d you get so domestic?” Wooyoung tries to joke around, thoroughly touched by the gesture but unsure of how to thank him. He thinks that this is the best route to go, since they’ve always been like this. But San has been a little too uptight the last few weeks, rarely receiving his jokes with the same mirth that he usually did, and never throwing out any of his own. He tries again though, and intends to until the older cracks a smile. “Props for not burning any of the food though, the second I saw you take those out I feared for my taste buds, but it looks pretty decent.”

San rolls his eyes at that, but there’s a hint of a grin on his face and it’s something. “I got better, for your information. It’s called character growth.”

Wooyoung smirks, digging his fork into the food. “Mind lending me some of that growth aspect?” He gets a bigger grin out of San with that, and he’s relieved to watch his friend loosen up.

San spends the next hour teaching him everything he needed to know about his apartment, from which cabinets had the pans and which had the cups, to which drawer held which clothes, to which toothbrush was his. He starts to feel overwhelmed as they go through the place, but it doesn’t stop San from continuing because he probably had places to be and better things to do than re-teach him the details of his own home.

After the lengthy house tour and a bit of overexertion, Wooyoung climbs into his bed, welcoming the way it feels like his, even when everything else didn’t. San had left the room to clean the kitchen, but guilt hadn’t left with him. So Wooyoung is stuck lying in his bed of shame, wondering why all of this had to happen to him. He hates it. He hates that all of his life, he’d worked tirelessly not to be a burden to others, not to put his own hardship onto the people he loves and instead be _their_ pillar. All he ever wanted to do was help people, and damned be him if he ever be the one to ask for it. But this is beyond his stubbornness; this is a three year block in his brain and he needs the guidance, no matter how much he doesn’t want to ask for it. He festers on the frustration until he drifts out of consciousness, arms wrapped tightly around his blanket.

The next time his eyes open, the sun is already sinking, the shadows of the nearby buildings castings shadows against the whites of his room. There’s a shuffling on his other side, and he rolls over to see Yeosang at his bedside, placing a pitcher of water on his nightstand and an already filled glass right next to it. He figures San has probably left by now, he feels bad he wasn’t even able to thank him. Yeosang notices his movement, seating himself on the side of his bed. “Hey, d’you sleep all day?”

Wooyoung hums in lieu of a yes, staring up at the ceiling as he blinks to regain his vision. When he looks back down at Yeosang, he finds the pity in his eyes, the same pity there always is, the same pity that thwarts him whenever he looks at his best friend. But Wooyoung doesn’t throw a fit about it, just bites down on his tongue and keeps his displeasure to himself.

“Mingi brought home Chinese take-out if you’re hungry.” Yeosang tells him as he reaches out to adjust the pillow under his head that had gotten bunched up in his sleep. Wooyoung makes a face at the gesture, and Yeosang sighs, backing away and holding his hands up guiltily. “I know, I know. You hate this.” He should have known that Yeosang would understand, all of this doting and babysitting troubles him. “But I have to make sure you’re okay, and you need to understand that this isn’t just a common cold.”

“I know.” Wooyoung grumbles, pulling his blanket further up until it covers his mouth. “Doesn’t stop the way it makes me feel like an inconvenience.”

Yeosang clacks his tongue disapprovingly at that. “You’re not an inconvenience. Do you know how relieved we are that you’re alive? We spent almost two weeks not knowing if you would wake up or not. So if we’re being overly concerned you have to know that there’s a reason.”

That makes Wooyoung feel worse. Of course they had a right to be doing this; after days on edge, with unease and fear, the fact that he’s okay and breathing right now means so much to them. “I’m sorry.” He gives his best friend a sad grimace, and Yeosang just shakes his head.

“Don’t be. Just let us take care of you.”

* * *

When all of them have the morning off, they go out for breakfast to a restaurant that Hongjoong and Seonghwa work at. He’d met them both in his second year of university, the first time he’d walked into this very restaurant. At the time, the two had still been in their sending-longing-glances-from-afar-but-insulting-each-other-to-the-face phase, and if Wooyoung had any say in the matter, he’d speak his mind unquestionably. And just like that, he’d told Hongjoong as he was ripping out his receipt from the machine that maybe the looks he was getting from the pretty waiter across the room meant more than just a mere look.

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa exclaims the second he walks into the restaurant, running over to fling his arms around him. He misses his motherly touch, Seonghwa had always been the one to accept his hugs, the only one he would let baby him once in a while. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

Hongjoong comes up to him as well, pulling him into his arms. “Hey kiddo. It’s good to see you up and lively again. Every time we went to visit you were either sleeping or spaced out.” The older pulls away after, squeezing his arm lightly. “Yeosang told us about the situation. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, refusing to let the atmosphere dampen. “No, don’t worry about it! I’m doing fine, and everyone’s helping me out. I’m sure it won’t be long before I remember everything.”

“We’re here if you need anything, okay? And I’m not just talking about the food.” Seonghwa says with a smile, to which Wooyoung chuckles at gratefully.

They file into their usual corner booth, Wooyoung sliding right up against the wall where he always sits, feeling even the tiniest bit accomplished for having _something_ he remembers. He orders his usual, an overpowering hunger in him as he’s finally getting to eat something other than cereal or oatmeal for breakfast.

Mingi and Yeosang are seated across from them, and Wooyoung watches as Mingi slings an arm over Yeosang’s shoulder and whispers something that makes the older laugh, before pressing a kiss to his temple. Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the sight, words spilling out in all of their incoherence. “I-What... what was _that_?”

The two of them look at him questioningly, “What was what?”

Wooyoung points an accusing finger, directing it back and forth between the two. “You just… kissed him!”

His two friends give each other looks, before Yeosang ducks his head down and Mingi explains for them with faltering jazz hands. “Oh, uh, surprise! We’re dating.”

His jaw drops further, if that’s even possible at this point. “You’re _what_?!” He whips his head towards San, who gives him an apologetic smile. “How did that happen? When did you start liking him and where did you find the courage?”

Mingi shrugs, an embarrassed smile on his face. “It's been a while. And you kept encouraging me to go for it, so I did.”

“Wait, so I did this?” He feels a sense of pride bloom in his chest. Score two for Wooyoung, he thinks, not that anyone is counting. “Wow, call me cupid I guess. If I helped you guys then why didn't any of y’all ever try to score me a date? Talk about fake friends.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but the three of them seem to take it seriously. Mingi glances around the table, scratching the back of his ear. “Huh? Oh, sorry, dude. You uh, never really seemed to want one.”

Wooyoung scoffs, disbelieving. “Come on, don’t tell you couldn’t even score me a hookup in the last three years.”

It’s oddly quiet, and for two people especially who are always ready to joke around, no one seems to be on the same wavelength as him. San clears his throat, and Wooyoung sees his arm retreat from against the cushion behind him back down to his side. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” 

In the end, Wooyoung doesn’t get the chance to address the awkwardness, because their food comes out and nothing but bacon, eggs, and pancakes are on his mind.

Their meal conversations start with Yeosang complaining about a chat he’d overheard earlier at school between a girl and her friend, in which the friend had been making her feel guilty for possibly ruining her parents relationship with her boyfriend slash childhood friend’s parents because they’re dating. And while Wooyoung somewhat agrees with the notion that dating a childhood friend could definitely go awry, he doesn’t care much for the friends condescending words or the way she’s subtly manipulative. When they ask San, he says nothing on the matter.

They talk for a while longer, and Wooyoung finds himself missing this kind of bonding time with his friends. They’re always so occupied with work and exams that these kind of laid back conversations are rare for them. They get reminiscent and San is the first one to dive back into their high school days, in spite of the half-hearted attempts from everyone else to keep away from it. Wooyoung doesn’t mind though, because San had come into his life when he’d needed him the most, and that alone had made bearing the crunch of being a senior just a little less harrowing.

When Wooyoung first met San, it was in the backyard of a random band kid's seventeenth birthday party, lit only by the faint fire that way too many people were crowded around. He’d been with Yeosang at the time, but San had been alone, and clearly out of his element. He knew he’d just transferred; he’d caught glimpses of the cute new kid with the black hair and innocent eyes in the halls, too shy to make any friends.

No one seemed to care much for the fact that it was nearly midnight and there were neighbors on either sides of the fence probably wanting to get some damn sleep. And San seemed to be thrown by it all, so much that he’d jammed himself into a corner on the back porch, hands stuffed awkwardly into the pockets of his half yellow-half purple sweater.

Wooyoung had strolled up to him after a failed attempt at roasting a marshmallow with the mind to make him feel a little less lonely in the ever growing crowd of rowdy teenagers. Wooyoung had half expected him to walk away with a weird look at his approach, but when the other countered his expectations and laughed instead, he knew it was going to be easier than he'd thought to knock on his shell and ask to be let in.

As it did turn out, cracking him wasn’t rocket science at all. It was a painless process, like a ship approaching the shoreline and announcing it was home. The cute black haired kid who was too shy to make friends was the complete opposite of quiet and cautious. He was the kid who never stopped moving, the kid who had ten too many twitter posts to share at once, and the kid who Wooyoung relied on to be the life of the party when existing took too much out of him to claim the title as his own. They were different in almost as many ways as they were alike, and yet they always worked.

San was also the voice of reason, the one who would say ‘_yes you can’_, to every ‘_no I can’t.’ _ Even when Wooyoung had been slumped at the foot of his bed, head in his arms and nails digging into his skin, San had been there. “Your parents are reasonable, you just have to promise to do better—”

“I can’t!” Wooyoung erupted, “I can’t promise to do better because I can’t do better.”

But the sympathetic raven-haired boy didn't take it as an answer. “Yes you can. I know you, Wooyoung. You can do well, you just don’t want to. You don’t want to try because you’ve already convinced yourself that you’re just gonna fail at everything you do, so why try anyways? But you’re smart. I know you can do better, but you need to start making an effort. I know it’s hard, and it’s a lot of pressure. But you can’t throw your life away because your mind is feeding you negative thoughts. You can’t give into that, you have to overcome it. And it’s never going to be alone, that’s one thing _I _can promise you.”

The older had always strived to provide just that—a shoulder to cry on, shelter from his storms, an ear to take the brunt of his inexhaustible rants and horribly timed breakdowns. He was someone who never ran when Wooyoung got too intense, and after years of people coming and going, constants were the one thing he needed to hold himself together. Whether that meant a presence on the other side of his phone screen at three in the morning, or piles of Twix bars and tubs of mint-chocolate ice cream in front of whatever new Netflix show they could find and a chest to lay his head on.

San was always there, without a doubt and without fail. This is something he can’t forget even if he tried.

They recall their graduation, their first year hysteria, their gradual ease into adult life, and then the door closes on Wooyoung’s knowledge.

He can’t stop them, really, because he doesn’t have a good reason to prevent them from having fun and bringing up old news or funny flashbacks. These turn into stories that Wooyoung doesn’t remember being a part of, stories he might have heard but can no longer recall, and it dawns on him just how much it bothers him, to be so out of the loop, to not have all of the same memories that they have.

If the dejection shows on his face, San is the first one to notice, by the way his hand reaches out to hold his, rubbing a soothing thumb across his palm. Wooyoung is a bit surprised at the gesture, though not unwelcoming of it. But San seems to think otherwise, mouth dropping slightly and pulling away like he’d just done something he shouldn’t have.

Wooyoung frowns at the loss of contact, reaching out for San’s hand once again, gripping it tightly. San searches his face, and whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find it. Wooyoung just casts him a reassuring smile, before turning back to the group with the same strained false front.

* * *

As much as Wooyoung normally loves to spend hours and hours rolling around in bed or dipping into the couch with no obligations to see the outside world, being pent up at home has been way too common of an occurrence ever since his recovery. And San is a homebody too, but that doesn’t keep him from taking Wooyoung out on a walk that he’s been desperate to go on, even if only to breathe fresh air. They don’t get too far away from his apartment, strolling around the park nearby, stopping to throw coins into the fountain and and making small talk with children who randomly run up to play with them.

When it starts to get too much for Wooyoung’s legs, they take a break to sit, with Wooyoung’s back up against San’s side, his legs stretching out to take up the rest of the bench. There’s a pair of kids playing in the grass right in front of them, their high-pitched giggles somewhat of a comfort to him.

The little boy brags about his paper plane, to which the girl argues with, claiming hers is better. The boy sticks out his tongue before he throws his plane, and it gets about ten centimeters far before it flies backwards, right back into his hands. He tries again, but it just comes back again, this time hitting him in the face. Wooyoung chuckles at the sight, and so does the girl across from the young boy, who points at him while clutching her stomach. “You can’t throw it against the wind, it won’t work!”

“Yeah, does this kid not know how physics works?” Wooyoung swings his legs off of the bench, swirling around to sit crossed-legged facing San.

San raises a brow at him, mimicking his position. “He’s probably like eight, cut him some slack.”

Wooyoung puffs out his chest, a brazen expression on his features. “When I was eight, I was getting straight A’s and being scouted by every university in the country.”

That earns him a scoff from the older. “When you were eight you were probably getting your tongue stuck to poles in the winter.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at him, mouth twisting sourly. “Touché.”

They pick up their walk again after a few minutes, turning onto a path that Wooyoung remembers taking to school every day. At the end of the street is a sub shop that he’d frequent when he’d been too busy to make his lunch at home. And just a few buildings down is the Royal Ballet and Concert Hall, which he’d always stop to admire. He had always gushed to his friends about ballet, spoke words of awe whenever he thought about the time and dedication it took to pursue it. It wasn’t their cup of tea, but they’d always concede to his indulgence, even when he’d plunge into technicalities. San in particular knew a great deal about ballet just from the things he’d learned from Wooyoung.

It happens suddenly, the ringing in his ears, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. Something flashes through his mind, images of this very building, but blurry. He hears disembodied voices, muffled talking and laughing but he can’t make much sense of them. And as quick as the flash interrupts his mind, it’s gone, leaving him with a perennial feeling of bliss that he can’t even understand.

“You okay?” He hears San’s worried voice bring him out of his trance, nodding when he regains his balance.

He looks up at the large poster hanging on the side wall of the building, pursing his lips. “Hey, did we ever go to see the nutcracker?” When he turns to look back at San, his eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. “I heard it was playing last year.”

San blinks a couple times, the surprise slowly fading from his face and in its place Wooyoung thinks there’s a pinch of disappointment. He clears his throat, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “You were constantly bothering me about wanting to see it, so I took you to watch it.”

That surprises Wooyoung, piquing his curiosity. “You? Sitting through a whole ballet?”

The older looks mildly offended by that, “Hey, I can appreciate the art of ballet.” It’s followed by a bunch of low grumbles but out of the jumbled sentence he can only pick out the word _‘you’_.

“What’d you say?”

“Hm?” San gives him a questioning look, then shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, nothing. Let’s get you home.”

It takes a bit of a push from Wooyoung for them to actually concede, but after mountains of _‘I’ll be fine_’s and ‘_San is here_’s, Mingi and Yeosang agree not to cancel their overnight trip in favor of taking care of him. Sleepover night with San is like any other day that they hang out—watching movies, switching back and forth between video games and card games, nearly burning down the kitchen because they get too preoccupied during their heated gaming sessions, and lying on the carpeted floor when they’ve done so much yelling that it’s depleted all of their energy.

Once night falls, San drags him into the bathroom, insisting that he needs to keep up with his skincare routine or Wooyoung with his memories will be upset with him. He learns that his routine has upgraded since he last remembers, the most recent one in his memory being just cleanser and moisturizer. San pulls out a container filled with a bunch of products from under the sink and places it in front of him, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he tells him to try and guess what goes first.

Wooyoung thinks that cleanser first is a given, getting a nod of approval from San as he grabs at the product after splashing his face with water. He’s about to use a serum after he’s washed the cleanser away when San stops him, shaking his head. “No, not that.” He puts it back down with the rest of his products, pointing out a finger as he explains. “It goes cleanser, _occasional_ face mask, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, then face oil, and if you get it wrong and miss a step you fall to the floor dramatically and whine for ten minutes cause you’re a prickly bitch.”

San takes a jab at him, but Wooyoung doesn’t take too much offense to it because he’s stuck on the thought of why San knows every detail about his skin care routine by heart. Eventually the insult comes to bother him, and he sneers at the older. “Just because your memory is intact doesn’t mean you have to be patronizing.”

San merely smirks, “Snarky too.”

Wooyoung punches him in the shoulder, both laughing. They fall into a comfortable silence and it’s a nice moment, so nice that he doesn’t realize how adoring San’s gaze starts to get until a second before the older breaks the moment by snickering. “What are you laughing at?”

“Maybe you should finish washing that stuff off of your face.” San tells him, and Wooyoung looks in the mirror to find patches of cleanser foam across his skin. He finds himself laughing again, going to wash off the rest and then proceeding with the order San had told him.

San joins him in his room after his shower, towel drying his hair just next to the bed, droplets of water hitting Wooyoung’s face in the process. “Ugh, would you quit being a dog and go dry your hair elsewhere?” Wooyoung complains, swatting San away with his comic book.

San sneers at him, kicking at him spitefully with a pointed foot. “Do you ever not complain?”

After he’s dry and not dripping water onto his floor, San climbs onto the bed, sitting up against his headboard opposite from Wooyoung, who’s lying on the other side of the mattress with his head propped up on one arm, his comic book in his free hand. They lay like that in the quiet for a while, Wooyoung reading until he gets bored of it and throws the book onto the bean bag at the edge of his bed. When he looks up at San, the older is staring blankly at the ceiling, eyelids heavy. Wooyoung snickers at the sight, crawling over to grab at the phone in the blonde’s hands.

“Let me play your cat game. What’s your password?” He asks once he’s settled back on the other end of his bed. San absentmindedly utters the numbers 0-9-2-2 in his half-asleep state and Wooyoung pauses, eyebrows furrowing. Truthfully, he’s not too sure why he stops. For some odd reason, it feels like a set of numbers that hold weight, something more than just a random assortment. He feels like he should know why, he feels like he _does_. But why would he? It’s San’s password, not his. So he brushes the weird feeling off, entering the passcode and going straight into the cat game.

It gets late, and Wooyoung fully expects San to be asleep by now, but he hears shuffling at the head of the bed, pulling his attention away from the game. San is crawling off of the bed, ruffling his hair and holding out a hand for his phone back. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed, I’ll take Mingi’s room today.”

Wooyoung places San’s phone in his hand, but gives him a weird look with it. “Why are you going to Mingi’s room?” He asks, confusion clear in his voice. “We always have sleepovers and my bed has always been big enough for the both of us.”

San nods slowly, eyes focused on the closet door behind him. “Yeah… yeah, I know. It’s just, my sleeping habits have been getting worse lately.” He tries to explain, though Wooyoung still doesn’t follow his logic. “And I’m very fidgety in my sleep now, and I don’t wanna like, kick you off the bed or anything.”

He ends it with a small chuckle, but Wooyoung is upset for reasons he doesn’t completely know why. Okay, sure, he’s fidgety. Fair. It shouldn’t be that much of a deal for San to sleep in Mingi’s room instead of his anyways, he should just let it go. “Okay.” Is the only thing he can bring himself to say in the end.

Wooyoung has sat through many tense silences, heavy air that presses down on him, suffocating and tight. But not once has he ever had to sit through one with San, until now. Even when they had first met, there had been no awkward fumbling, no stuttering over _hello’s_ or rifling through the files of knowledge in their heads for something to talk about. Because from the very start, they’d just been _them_.

And now, this them seems to be different, but in the most frustrating way. It’s microscopic discrepancies, like the small chips in San’s expression when Wooyoung would say something that has him wondering if there are some things he should know not to bring up with him, and really just the idea of not knowing San well enough to keep his mouth shut when he should. Or the way San would back up from any kind of physical touch, not all the time, but when he’s really attentive enough to perceive it as it occurs. And then the older deciding to sleep in a different room entirely, as if he hadn’t already been falling asleep on Wooyoung’s bed for years now, probably even longer than he can remember.

A part of him thinks that maybe San wants to give him space. Maybe he thinks that Wooyoung’s bubble is unbreachable simply because he’s broken in a few ways, that one mistouch will send him falling to the floor in shattered pieces. But another part of him is sure that something must have happened in that missing timeframe, something that put a dent in their dynamic. Now San looks like he’s too scared to tempt the fates, to do anything that would trigger Wooyoung’s memory of something that might cause him to hate him. And maybe he’s just overthinking this all together and San just _really_ wants to sleep alone.

“Goodnight.” San says quietly, body turned half away from him, looking almost guilty for leaving. It’s unsettlingly difficult for Wooyoung to look away, even through all of the discomfort.

Wooyoung flashes a tight-lipped smile for a brief second. “Goodnight.”

And then he’s left alone with his head once more.

* * *

Wooyoung doesn’t know why all of their weekend afternoons recently start with near-violent games of UNO, but they do, and to his dismay, he always ends up losing.

After a few turns, Wooyoung thinks he’s got a shot of ending pretty quickly if he plays his cards right. That is until Yeosang turns the order around and he’s suddenly stuck at a +6 with nothing to counter it with. “Don’t do it, Mingi.” He grits through his teeth at the raven-haired boy beside him, who shrugs innocently, before placing another +2 on top of the pile. Wooyoung groans, head falling into his hands in despair as the other two cheer at his misfortune. “I hate you both.”

Even after losing, Wooyoung tries to push for another game to redeem himself. But before he can say anything, Mingi decides to speak up first. “You know, I don’t think you two have had a full best friend day since the accident.”

Wooyoung looks towards Yeosang, realizing the truth in the statement. Ever since he’d gotten discharged it had always been San coming over to take care of him when Mingi and Yeosang were busy, or Mingi and Yeosang taking care of him together, or Yeosang being at home while Wooyoung slept all day. It’s been a while since they’ve hung out, and now that he sees this, he does miss it.

“You guys should use the rest of this day as a Wooyoung and Yeosang day!” Mingi claps his hands together decidedly, then gathers all of the playing cards to put back in the case.

“You sure?” Wooyoung questions, “It doesn’t have to be just us, I don’t want to leave you out or anything.”

Mingi shakes his head, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll call up Yunho and Jongho to play ball. You can take Yeosang out shopping since he’s been wanting to and you probably haven’t been to the mall in a while either.”

Yeosang nods in agreement. “I’m good with that plan. Are you?” Wooyoung nods as well, excited to get further than the park across the street for once.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get changed and let you guys get ready, then I can drop you guys off.” Mingi presses a kiss to Yeosang’s lips before jumping onto his feet and heading for his room.

When Yeosang turns back to him, Wooyoung is narrowing his eyes at him. “Please don’t tell me you’ve done things while I was at home.”

The brunette turns scarlet, pressing his lips together and aimlessly pointing a finger in the air as he avoids Wooyoung’s eyes. “Well… I mean, Mingi’s room is allll the way across the hall from yours, so—”

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung cuts him off, mouth curling in disgust. “Do not say one more word, Kang Yeosang.” He shakes his head at his best friend disapprovingly, before going to his room to change and hopefully burn out the visual he’d just been given from his brain forever.

As usual, Yeosang is drawn to every clothing store with boards and graphic tees in the display cases, with absolutely no regard for how much he spends because people with credit cards are recklessly impulsive. Wooyoung window shops for the most part, seeing a few things here and there but holding himself back knowing he no longer had a job. 

But soon he finds himself gravitating towards the face shop immediately upon reaching the second floor, eyes set on a new facial oil. The peppy employee walks him through all of their current facial oils, explaining which ones were good for which skin type and which ones she preferred. Yeosang walks around aimlessly in the midst of it, finding his way back when the employee leaves him to make his decision.

He doesn’t exactly plan to ask him the question, it sort of just comes out without much thought. “Do you know the order of my skincare routine?”

Yeosang snorts almost instinctively, like it was just a ridiculous question. “No, you’re _way_ too extra about that. I doubt anyone else would have the breath to list it.” 

Wooyoung takes note of his answer, not sure of how to interpret it right now. “You’re just jealous that I have great skin and you’re a rotten fishstick.” That stops Yeosang dead in his tracks, as the older whirls around to face him with a deadpanned look. “What?”

“You just called me a rotten fishstick.” Yeosang says, tone flat and face scrunched into displeasure.

“Yes and what about it?” He returns provokingly, yelping when he leaps to dodge the elbow that tries to puncture his ribs.

“The end of our friendship, that’s what.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes, knowing it’s all in good nature.

Among the many friendships Wooyoung has, Yeosang is, and he’s told him countless times before, one of his more questionable ones. But even though most of their friendship consisted of bickering and admittedly crappy nicknames, Yeosang had steadily become the biggest constant in Wooyoung’s life, fifteen years and ongoing. Three years is almost nothing in Wooyoung’s friendship with Yeosang, so falling back into their usual dynamic is as easy as breathing.

Meeting Yeosang wasn’t like most clumsy encounters in the back row of a history class or on the benches of a rowdy gym class. Meeting Yeosang was as easy as tapping him on the shoulder on the playground and asking if he wanted to be ‘it’ for grounders. Being friends with him was as simple as trading his carrots for his cheese slices, and dragging each other into the patrol group only to swing their flagged sticks like lightsabers from across the street when they weren’t crossing kids safely to the other side. Staying friends was as smooth as being busy for weeks at a time and seeing him with a new hair color only to tell him it was as ugly as his newfound love for durian smoothies.

And that’s why three years doesn’t feel like anything has changed at all, because he has a new wardrobe and a new room and a new usual coffee order and he’s still _Yeosang_. He’s always Wooyoung’s best friend, Yeosang.

They spend the last of their outing seated at a little patio just off to the side of the flower garden in the park, discussing things like little snippets that have slipped from Wooyoung’s memory, and Yeosang’s new relationship with Mingi that they haven’t had the time to talk about.

“I just remember hearing you yell, ‘_Just do it you fucking coward!'_ seconds before Mingi barged into my room and told me he liked me.” Yeosang reminisces with a fond smile, “Not how I pictured a confession would be, but it all lead up to this, so I’m happy. And it’s a fun memory to look back on.”

Wooyoung laughs at the thought, of an overly panicked Mingi pacing in his room, deciding whether or not it was the right time to tell Yeosang how he feels, and Wooyoung being completely fed up with the hesitation that he bursts like that. Even more that Mingi actually followed the advice in the heat of the moment.

_Just do it, why are you scared?_ Out of nowhere, a voice that sounds distinctly like Mingi’s filters into his ear. Wooyoung scrunches his nose, trying to build a full picture out of the memory but all he gets is words.

_I’m terrified. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do._

_You’ll never know unless you try, right? _

Wooyoung feels his breath catch in his throat, growing almost desperate for an image to accompany the exchange. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, anything to force his brain to complete the memory, but it’s of no use.

“Wooyoung?” Yeosang’s voice drags him out of his transfixion, and he unfortunately pushes the thought away. “You good?”

He nods, gesturing for Yeosang to continue. He tells stories about the times Mingi had taken him by surprise, talks about the sides of him that he’d never seen before, about how he’d fallen deeper and deeper as the days went by. How happy he was—_is_. And Wooyoung is happy for him, he really is, he just wishes it didn’t feel so insincere. This is how everything he’d preached about constants starts to crumble, start to make him feel misplaced all over again. He only knows of the events and Yeosang’s feelings from the stories he’s been told and not because he’d truly known how happy this made Yeosang feel, or even how long he’d been feeling this way. Sure, he could say that it’s probably like any other one of Yeosang’s previous crushes, so as long as he’s felt this way before, Wooyoung should know how he feels about this one. Except he knows that’s not completely true, and as trifling as it may be, it doesn’t feel so great.

“You know, it’s kinda hard for me to imagine.” Yeosang begins after a moment of quiet. It’s always obvious to Yeosang when Wooyoung falls back into this state of defeat, Wooyoung doesn’t even think he’s really tried to hide it anymore. “What it’s like for you right now, to be missing such a big chunk of your life, not knowing when you’ll get it back.”

Wooyoung gives him a half smile, fingers fiddling with the shopping bag in his lap. “It’s hard, I’m not gonna lie.” He blows out his cheeks, then lets out a long exhale. “Sometimes I feel too pressured to remember things, and sometimes I wish it would just all come back to me at once.” 

Yeosang nods in understanding. “And I know how much you hate not being able to do things for yourself. I always try to give you space to still be independent after the accident, but sometimes it’s hard for you to eat or get dressed on your own and I don’t want to push you because I know you’re ashamed of it but I just, I-I hate watching you struggle like this..”

He feels his jaw harden at the shakiness in his best friend’s voice, the heartache painted clearly on his face the more he thinks about it. “Yeosang.. you don’t have to feel bad. I understand that I’m going to have trouble on my own, I’m still recovering.”

“I know, I know.” He can hear the other start to get choked up, and it slowly picks at the walls he’d built around his own heart, of determination to be okay. No reminder that his body is here while his head is in another time is a good one. “I’ve just been thinking a lot for the past two months and you—you always have my back. You always sacrifice things for me, without me even asking you.” The sniffles indicate that Yeosang is pretty much in tears at this point, hands trembling in his lap. “You do so much and now it’s my turn to take care of you. And I might not be that great at it, because none of us really know how to handle this situation, but I’m trying really _really_ hard because I really want you to be okay. I want you to be happy.”

By now, Wooyoung is crying along with him, hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Fuck.” He curses quietly, eliciting a wobbly chuckle out of the other. Wooyoung laughs along with him, tilting his head back to try and stop the tears.

“Why are we crying in public?” Yeosang half weeps, half laughs.

“You started it!” Wooyoung fusses, fingers rested under his eyes.

As they’re crying they hear steps approaching them, “Hey!” Mingi’s voice calls out to them, “I texted you that I was in the parking lot like fifteen minutes ago, what’s going on?” And then he notices the crying, eyes darting back and forth between them in confusion. “Uh, are you guys okay?”

“It’s his fault!” “I did nothing! You got emotional and started crying and then made me cry!” “You made me cry even more by crying!”

Mingi shakes his head, walking up to throws his arms around both of their shoulders, roughly pulling them into his hold. “Let’s go little babies.”

He doesn’t get that far though, because both of them elbow him in the ribs before making a run for it, loud cackles thrown behind them.

It’s not on purpose, not all the time.

As much as he tries not to be weighed down every second of the day by his losses and missing pieces, it’s not something he can will away like a momentary pessimistic thought. It invades every aspect of his life, from a graduate program he can’t remember half of the info that got him into it, to an ex-boss he doesn’t remember meeting, to any mundane activity that had been impaired by the trauma caused by the accident.

Dreams were usually a remedy, an escape. And when he wakes up to a reality he wishes wasn’t his, all the more he wants to remain in his head where the truth can’t hurt him. He wishes for his dreams to drip out and find solidity outside of his head. But instead, the facts of the real world start to seep into his fantasies, and there’s nowhere for him to run—not awake, not asleep, and definitely not in the in between.

There’s nothing he can do to stop the world from moving on and leaving him in the dust. Things will keep happening whether he knows how to deal with it or not. The clock keeps ticking but he can never jump over the line past midnight, abandoned in the yesterdays and miles away from everyone else in todays. Everything is so painfully frustrating and Wooyoung is tired of it all.

There’s a distant ringing that gets louder as he pushes away his frustration. He’s still spaced out as he’s sliding to answer the call, lifting his face from where its squished against his pillow.

“Hello?” He mumbles into his earphone mic, arm flung over the edge of his bed.

“Oh, I know that dazed voice, are you in your head again?” It’s San, which he would’ve known if he’d bothered to check caller ID before picking up. Nevertheless, it’s a friendly voice to interrupt the plethora of negativity, and exactly what he needs. It's like San always knows when Wooyoung needs him.

“Can’t help it.” He figures denying it won’t do him much good anyways. “My legs won’t cooperate tonight, so I’m stuck in bed.”

“Why don’t you call me when things get like this?” He says it like it’s a casual offer, probably not realizing how challenging it would be to actually allow pre-breakdown phone calls without office hours. Lord knows how often Wooyoung would get like this; if anything, it’s an every day, every moment kind of thing.

Rolling onto his back, Wooyoung declines the suggestion. “You know that’s not gonna work all the time. You’re busy and I’m not gonna bother you with all of my internal problems.”

“I’m always willing to listen, Woo.” San tells him softly, and Wooyoung has the feeling that this call didn’t really have a purpose other than just to call.

“I appreciate it, but I just don’t really know what to say other than I always feel lost.” It's a redundant remark and he knows it, but there’s nothing else for him to say. He just drifts along unknown waters and waits, waits to be washed up onto a shore, to find ground to stand on so he can teach himself how to walk back home—whatever home is supposed to mean.

“We knew things weren’t going to be easy.” San answers after a while. “You’re having the hardest time adjusting to this, but we’re all here, and we know you. You might not understand just how much, but we do and we’ll help you. Just follow us, follow _me_, okay? I promise you, one day you’ll find your way back home.”

Wooyoung has always trusted San. He knows all too well that the world is saturated with liars and frauds. But not San, never San. “You’re here.” Wooyoung mutters, voiced weighed down by lethargy, but the sincerity is still there. “I know I will.”

“Good.” He hears the smile peak out of San’s voice, and it makes it easier to relax. Wooyoung takes a breather in the silence, loosening up the knots in his muscles. “I miss hearing your laugh.”

The confession brings his spirits up a tiny bit. Laughter was hard to come by these days, it’d be a lie to say he didn’t miss it too. “If you miss it you’re gonna have to make it happen yourself.”

“Um, well the most interesting thing to happen to me today was when I was in the drive thru and asked for an iced tea for me and root beer for Yunho, and they gave me one drink that was half root beer and half iced tea..”

It’s unexpected, so much that it actually draws a laugh out of him. “What the fuck? Why would they think that? Who does that?”

“I don’t know!” He can hear the pout in his voice. “I just drove away because I didn’t wanna complain and now that guy probably thinks I actually order weird shit like that. But hey, you know it wasn’t that bad actually.”

Wooyoung snorts, shaking his head. “God, you’re so fucking weird.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re _weird_.” He maintains with an eye roll that's more affectionate than anything. “And you’re my favorite.”

San giggles and a quiet contentment spreads through him, warmth blooming in his chest. “That’s one thing I’ll never let you forget.”

“How could I?” Wooyoung says with a smile, absentmindedly plucking at his fleece blanket.

San lets out a sigh of satisfaction. “Okay, well I need to go do some work so I can say I wasn’t 100% unproductive today.” Wooyoung chuckles, nodding even though he can’t see him. “I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.”

The shock is enough to make him drop his phone. Thankfully it just narrowly misses smacking him in the face, but he’s sure his startled fidgeting doesn’t go unheard. There’s still radio silence on the other side of the call as he fumbles with the tangle in his earphones, quickly finding his mic. “U-Uh… back at ya, I guess?”

“I-Shit, sorry.” San stammers through an apology, voice edged with fear. “I’ve been making it uh, a habit to say that to my mom after every convo on the phone and i-it just, I guess it accidentally slipped out with you…”

Right. Right, an accident. It’s fine, he’s fine. “Oh, okay. Cool. Don’t worry about it.” The laugh he forces out this time is anything but natural, but San drops the matter.

“Right. Uh, bye.” He ends it there and the line goes dead. Wooyoung drops his phone onto his chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. He thinks the temperature of the room might be rising when he feels his face heat up and can’t find any other explanation for it. He dwells on it for longer than he should, makes something out of nothing because San had already explained that it was a slip-up, that it wasn’t meant for him. And really, there’s no reason for him to overthink it. But the words still jam themselves into every crevice in his brain and keep him up for the rest of the night, along with a lingering sense of familiarity.

☾


	2. Chapter 2

_ ii._

_before I fall apart  
_ _pull me close, embrace my heart_

Wooyoung can’t remember if it had been him badgering San to take him to the amusement park or vice versa, or the both of them equally pestering each other to make it happen. But on one of San’s free weekends, they finally make it to the amusement park. He doesn’t know how long it’s been for the actual Wooyoung since any kind of carnival, but for him it’s been over a year, and Wooyoung can barely contain his excitement. Just the bustling atmosphere and loud music is enough to have him vibrating in place, face sore from the amount of smiling he’s been doing since they’d arrived.

He doesn’t know what’s cuter, their matching Nick and Judy headbands, or San’s sweater paws from his oversized hoodie. Whatever it is, he makes sure he gets a video of San doing his Nick impression on camera, followed by his embarrassed laugh that has him running out of the frame with a yelp.

“So, how are we gonna get on any rides if you’re terrified of them all?” San pokes fun at him, nudging him with the fox ears on his head.

“I’m not scared!” Wooyoung complains, huffing as he puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll prove it. I’ll get on anything today.”

San has the nerve to smirk at that, pursing his lips while he looks around the place. It makes Wooyoung uneasy, his backbone faltering with every second that passes. “Hmmm. _Anything_, you say?” There’s a playful glint in the blonde’s eyes. He grabs at Wooyoung’s shoulders, turning him to face the other direction, leaning forward to put his mouth just next to his ear as he points up at the sky and whispers. “What about that one?”

The ride is called the Mach 3, but Wooyoung likes to refer to it as the 11-storey spinning arm of death. Immense fear takes over with just the thought of it; he’d always swear no amount of persuading would ever get him to go on it. He swallows hard at the sight of it, suddenly feeling meek, previous confidence having been squashed immediately. “Okay, maybe not.. anything…”

San laughs at the horror in his voice, throwing an arm around his shoulder and dragging him in the opposite direction, and it’s only then that Wooyoung can release the breath he’d been holding.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that they get on the tea cups, like they do with every trip to the carnival. There’s a dangerous look on San’s face when they slide into the seat, hands gripping the steering wheel. Wooyoung sends a wicked grin back, bracing himself when the attendant flips the switch. The point from no movement to spinning out of control happens in an instant, Wooyoung’s arms working tirelessly to turn the carriage in chaotic spirals. His body jerks around in his seat as the tea cup rotates wild circles on its axis, their screams and laughter probably extending miles from where they are. San’s blonde hair flies in every which direction, eyes squinting from the harsh winds caused by their speed. Wooyoung loves the feeling so much that when it’s over he’s visibly upset, despite the way he heaves for breath, looking like he’d just gotten swept up in a tornado and flung back out of it.

They wobble around after the ride to look for others and somehow, San manages to get him in line for a rollercoaster, because Wooyoung feels the need to salvage his pride after he’d chickened out of the Mach 3. “You don’t have to get on if you don’t want to.” In spite of his teasing, San genuinely worries for him when he notices Wooyoung’s fidgeting.

He shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I can do it, I don’t wanna back out of everything.” It takes a bit more for him to fully convince him, but San eventually stops worrying.

And Wooyoung does end up regretting it a little. Only because he has a headache from the constant screaming (“How the _fuck_ are you drinking water on this rollercoaster Choi Saaaan!”) and the steep drops, not to mention the whiplash still there from the tea cups. Still, Wooyoung insists on getting on every ride even though he’s fucking terrified of half of them. It’s all worth it in the end, when San buys him cotton candy to congratulate him on his step of courage today.

Wooyoung’s eyes search the rows of mini-games after deciding he was done with rides, trying to find something he could definitely win at. He skips past anything with a gun, water or otherwise, because his aim admittedly leaves a lot to be desired. Just across the boisterous water gun shoot out stand is a vacant stall covered majorly by the various stuffed toys hanging from the roof. Wooyoung tugs San over with him curiously, examining the tables surrounding the stand, which all read out the twelve months of the year on each side. Behind the tables is an older lady, a cordial smile on her face as they approach her. “Hi dears, looking for an easy game?”

“Absolutely.” Wooyoung answers with anticipation, already scoping out his prize from the row of stuffed toys above him. “What do we do?”

“It’s a dollar per bet, you place your bet on your birthday month and throw this die into this container.” She holds up the large die and gestures to the round table in the middle, walled off by plastic. “If your month shows up on the die, you win.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Wooyoung pulls a loonie from his wallet, placing it down on November. “You playing?”

San moves out from behind him, surveying the other side of the board. “My luck isn’t that great, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” He watches as the blonde places his dollar on April instead of July.

“Your birthday isn’t in April.” He says matter-of-factly, reaching out to drag his dollar to where it should be. Except San smacks his hand with a squeak before he can, and Wooyoung retracts his hand with an incredulous look.

The blonde flushes, leaving it on April. “I know, I just figured I’d have better luck with this.” Wooyoung frowns, but leaves it. San lets him throw the 12-sided die, chanting _November_ under his breath as he flings it up in the air.

The lady claps when it lands, collecting both of their coins and congratulating San for winning. Wooyoung’s mouth hangs open at the word _April_ written on the top of the thrown die, and then turns back to San, who is equally as shocked. The older picks out his prize after he confirms his win, deciding on the grey fox and completely ignoring Wooyoung’s clear dissatisfaction over losing a chance game to San. “Don’t be a baby.” San teases, sticking his tongue out and walking away.

“So what does April mean?” Wooyoung shouts after him, running until he falls back into place with San.

“Who knows?” The blonde answers cryptically, hugging the grey fox tight to his chest. “Maybe I just picked it.”

“You wouldn't have just picked it.” Wooyoung says pointedly “So what is it huh? Don’t think that you’re gonna get away with everything today because I fully intend to drag out every little cryptic thing you’ve—oh my God, let’s take pictures with the castle!” Wooyoung’s attention on the April matter is good as gone when they reach the castle, grabbing his phone out to take a selfie in front of it.

San eggs him on enough to make him embarrassed, so Wooyoung stops his little solo photoshoot to have San in the pictures with him. “Come here, let’s take some together.”

“I’ll get someone to take it for us.” San offers instead, pulling out his phone and surveying the area. “Excuse me, sorry to bother but could you take a picture of us?” The blonde timidly approaches a young lady standing just across from them.

“Yeah, of course!” She takes his phone and San runs back to him, pulling Wooyoung in towards him and resting his head on top of his. Wooyoung wraps an arm around San’s waist, holding up a peace sign with his other hand. The lady counts down and takes a few shots, sending them a thumbs up when she’s done. The older runs back to grab his phone, thanking the girl. She seems to have a little more to say though, because San is talking for longer than a simple ‘thank you’.

Wooyoung catches the wink the girl sends him before walking away, and San turns back to him looking flushed. Wooyoung raises a brow at the older, “Was she flirting with you?”

“Huh?” San looks genuinely surprised at the question, but he still stammers through his answer. “No, no, she just uh, complimented my shirt?” It comes off as more of a question than an answer, so Wooyoung crosses his arms skeptically, lower lip jutting out.

“She was totally flirting with you.”

San scratches the back of his neck, narrowing his eyes at him. And then there’s a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, “What, are you jealous?”

“Uh, yeah!” Wooyoung replies promptly, jokingly putting on a sulky face. “This is an _us_ day, why am I here if you’re just gonna flirt with other people?”

The older looks a little too amused by this, chuckling softly while shaking his head. “Okay, how about I buy you curly fries to make up for it?”

Wooyoung gives in instantly, easily persuaded by the mention of food. “How about you buy me a year’s worth of curly fries?” He grabs onto the blonde’s arm, linking them together and dragging him towards the food trucks.

Once the rest of their friends are free for the day, they all meet up at a nearby bowling alley. Wooyoung is reluctant to join along, but San convinces him that it’ll be fun. (“You don’t like bowling?” Yunho asks incredulously, “I thought you’d like knocking things over.” “See the thing is, I like knocking things over, but I have terrible aim. So if I can’t hit anything then what’s the point?” San snorts at him, before dropping a ball in his arms.)

To no one’s surprise, Wooyoung ends up losing, and he falls to the floor with an overdramatic sigh, complaining about how the game was rigged to make him lose. Jongho rolls his eyes, nudging at him with his foot. “Get up, drama queen. This is just like the time you and San—”

His sentence is cut off with an ‘oof’, followed by a quiet argument between him and Yeosang. Yunho claps his hands together, “Anyways! What should we do next?”

Wooyoung frowns, eyes flickering across the group. “Why does it feel like there’s something you guys aren’t telling me?”

The lot of them exchange glances, ones that Wooyoung wishes he could read but all there is instead is confusion. And then Mingi is throwing an arm out, pointing towards the door. “Oh look, a claw machine!”

Wooyoung springs to his feet immediately, whatever was on his mind had gone completely out the door. “The Devil’s game! I wanna beat it.”

They settle on wing night for dinner, entering the lounge where there’s a basketball game on the TVs that Mingi gets enthusiastic about. Wooyoung jumps into one of the bar chairs and orders a drink or two (or five), having missed the feeling of being buzzed.

“Hey, be sensible. I’m the one who has to take you home.” San nags at him as soon as he comes up from behind him, hand placed on the small of his back and he doesn't know if its the gesture or the ciroc that makes him tingle. The blonde spins to stand in front of him, grabbing the shot out of his hands.

Wooyoung pouts, arms reaching out for the glass but falling short. “I’ll jus’ go home with Yeosang and Mingi...” He slurs, head falling onto his shoulder.

San sighs, nudging his leg with his knee. “They both hold out longer than you. You’ll be out in half an hour.”

"Not true." Wooyoung frowns, poking San in the shoulder. "I can last thirty-_five_ minutes." 

San lifts an amused eyebrow, nodding his head in a condescending manner. "Oh, _thirty-five_ now? I'm sorry for underestimating you." 

Sneering at the smug look on his face, Wooyoung knees him in the stomach, sticking his tongue out when San groans and hunches over in his lap. "You're a violent drunk and its good for no one.." 

When a booth frees up, the eight of them cram themselves into it, Wooyoung barreling into San’s side and knocking him into the wall in the process. “Jung Wooyoung, I swear to God.” Wooyoung merely gives him an apologetic smile, linking their arms together and dropping his head onto San’s shoulder. San snorts at him, then reaches to lift Wooyoung’s right leg onto his own, pulling him closer to give Yunho and Jongho more room to sit.

The group play an intense game of Would You Rather, but Wooyoung is stuck with the awareness that he’s practically sitting in San’s lap pestering him the entire time. Seonghwa and San are currently debating over what’s better: moving to a new city or town every week, or never being able to leave the city you were born in. 

“I mean you get to see so much more of the world and have new, fun experiences every day.” Seonghwa argues, eyes slightly out of focus from the three shots he’d taken, along with the mixed drink in his hand. He wasn’t as bad as Wooyoung, but he was definitely still a lightweight.

“Yeah but you wouldn’t be able to form close connections.” San counters, lifting his arm from out of Wooyoung’s hold and wrapping it around his shoulder instead. “I never would have gotten to meet you all and become friends with you if I moved every week.” Wooyoung gives him a thumbs up, patting his chest proudly. It was an answer he agreed with; ultimately, having constants was more important to him than frequent new experiences.

Mingi gets the option of marrying a 10 with a bad personality or a 6 with an amazing personality. The taller scoffs, “Jokes on you, I’m already married to a 10 with a bad personality.”

Yeosang’s mouth drops in disbelief as the rest of the group laugh at him, Seonghwa hitting Mingi in the shoulder with Hongjoong behind him, wishing Mingi luck keeping his relationship after that. Mingi apologizes profusely between laughs, arms attempting to console Yeosang from the joke but the other whacks his hands away, threatening to see him when they’re alone later.

At some point, Wooyoung drowns out the rest of his friends voices, focused on the way his head rises and falls with San’s breaths, how the older vibrates with his loud laughter, how soft his touches are whenever he adjusts his position or rests his chin on top of Wooyoung’s head. San is cozy, Wooyoung concludes, perfect for cuddling.

He doesn’t know when his eyes had shifted onto the older’s face, but he finds himself marveling at the four moles scattered across his face, almost like a constellation. The one just above his left eye always stood out the most to him, and he has half a mind to run his finger over it until he concludes that his lack of control over his body right now might end with him accidentally poking San’s eye instead, so he decides against it. San eventually notices him staring, then laughs at how awkwardly his neck cranes back to look up at him. Wooyoung smiles back at him, blinking long. “`M sorry..”

The blonde gives him a questioning look, “For what?” He doesn’t manage a response though, because it’s his turn to answer a question.

"Wooyoung, would you rather date Jongho or San?" 

The vodka burns more than usual at the badly timed shot, he can't even chase it because he's too busy coughing up his shock. "Are you serious?"

"Obviously not, it's a game question. But you still need to answer it." Yunho tells him, dancing excitedly in his seat. Wooyoung grabs his bottle of orange juice, downing half of it and stalling for time to think up an answer. 

Clearing his throat, he slams a hand down on the table dramatically. "Is that even a question?" He grabs San's jaw in one hand, and pokes a finger at his dimple with the other. "Look at these killer dimples, a win. Sorry Jongho, you're cool and all but you're not my type."

"And San is?" That.. wasn't a question he'd been expecting. He wants to slap a hand over his mouth for saying more than needed, for always getting himself into sticky situations. There are far too many eyes watching him intently, but he has to remember that this is just a game.

"Wow guys, way to make it weird. Let's not make San feel uncomfortable." He says with a dry chuckle. "And what about Jongho? Poor kid just got rejected by_ this_." 

"Actually, I'm relieved—"

"Not the point." Wooyoung raises a hand to stop him, and then uses it to pat San on the cheek. "You're cute and boyfriend-worthy, congrats." 

San stares at him for a long time, and Wooyoung stares back for just as long his vision starts to get cloudy, but not before he sees the tight-lipped smile on the blonde's face. "Thanks." 

In defiance of expectations, Wooyoung lasts almost an hour, which is probably a new record for him, that he knows of anyways. But the headache comes back in full swing and soon he’s begging for San to take him home. They bid the rest of the group goodbye (after Wooyoung shoots finger guns at his roommates and yells “You’re not allowed to fuck just cause I’m knocked out in my room!”) and head to San’s car, the older lugging him on his back the whole way there.

Once they reach the car, Wooyoung falls ungracefully into the passenger’s seat, hands still gripping at San’s jacket. “Wooyoung, let go of me I need to drive.” San struggles to escape his hold, trying to sit him upright.

“I’m ssssorry.” He slurs, sliding down in his seat. San groans, attempting to push him back up onto the seat.

“You’ve been apologizing the whole night but you won’t tell me why.” San murmurs, taking a break after Wooyoung exhausts his energy just refusing to sit up properly.

“Sorry…”

San sighs, poking at his cheek. “What are you sorry for?” Even with his head muddled by the alcohol, San’s earnest gaze feels so insistent, in a way pleading for an answer.

Wooyoung closes his eyes when everything starts to get dizzy again, and his energy eventually dies down. His arms drop to his sides, head falling onto his shoulder. He lets out a long exhale, quieting his voice to just above a whisper. “For not being your Wooyoung…”

Silence follows, so deafening that it almost sobers him. His eyes flutter back open, wondering if San had left and why he hadn’t heard the sound of the car door closing if he did. But when his vision clears, his eyes fall onto San, who’s still hovering over him. Maybe it’s the alcohol that makes the look in his eyes so horribly grief-stricken, all Wooyoung knows is that he hates looking at it, hates whenever looking at San feels like he’s staring into an unrecognizable void.

Whatever it is, Wooyoung doesn't get to question it, because San is clearing his throat, buckling his seatbelt, and out the door the next second, taking him home.

* * *

Most of their hangouts recently occur at Wooyoung’s house, mainly because it’s safer for him to be home if ever problems arise. San invites him over to his dorm this time, after they realize that Wooyoung doesn’t have any recollection of being there. There admittedly isn’t much to do in a single room as cramped as his, so they settle for their usual movie marathon, huddled up on San’s twin bed with too-buttery popcorn and piles of Mars bars.

San cries, because the movie ends with one of them dying and as much as he tries to deny it, the blonde is a softie with a fragile heart, too emotional for anything that couldn’t guarantee a happily ever after.

Wooyoung doesn’t cry, just comforts San through his sensitive state and laughs at the older’s accusation of him being heartless. But Wooyoung disagrees. If anything, it sparks a curiosity he’s always tried to put aside.

In a weird way, it makes him miss love. Not that he’d ever truly known it, at least to his standards. He’d come pretty damn close a few times, but not to the point of wishing a whole life with them. To want to give someone your all—your firsts, your happiness, your sorrow—a love that was enough to last a lifetime, how wonderful would this kind of love be?

And how horrible did it feel to lose it?

He figures that maybe San’s crying is justified after all. He can’t help but be curious, though. Had San ever found something like that? It’s a little unrealistic, really, to think San wouldn’t have loads of love letters piled up at his door. One look at him is enough to fall, he's sure of it. Then again, maybe he’d garnered experience over the years and he'd just missed out on witnessing it. “Did you ever get into a relationship?” Wooyoung questions, “In the last three years, I mean.”

San looks shocked at the question, clearly not having expected it. “Oh, um.” He pauses for a while, seemingly debating whether or not to say it. He finally does, though. “Yeah, I did.”

Wooyoung takes interest in that, “Really? How was that like?”

The older still looks hesitant to speak, but the genuine curiosity on Wooyoung’s face is what he thinks gets him to talk. “I didn’t think I’d be good enough to make it work, and it scared me a lot. And he was even more scared than me.” San confesses, “But I don’t regret a single second of it.”

He nods slowly, understanding that it was obviously a thing of the past, since he’d never spoke of any relationship in the present. “Do you miss him?”

San smiles at him sadly, leaning back into the couch with a wistful look in his eyes. “Every single day.”

That, for some reason, wrenches at his heart. Wooyoung blames it on sympathy. He gets that the mood is ambiguous after the conversation, so he attempts to lighten it. “You know, this reminds of the time you told me you’d be the most annoying boyfriend known to man, that you’re so clingy you’d probably glue your arms around someone and never let them go.”

San gives him a disbelieving look. “When did I ever say that?”

Wooyoung laughs at the memory, “I don’t know, it was when we went to chatime or something and the girl got your order wrong and you got upset and pouted the rest of the day because you were too nice to complain.”

It takes a moment for the flicker of recognition to pass him, but it does eventually. “Oh yeah, that was after the research methods exam I almost failed so I was in an extra bad mood.” He chuckles, but then his head snaps up suddenly, eyes wide, startling Wooyoung. “Wait.. Wooyoung, t-that happened after your memory block!”

Wooyoung’s mouth slacks open, blinking rapidly. “What, really?”

“Yeah, I-I remember taking that research class second sem of fourth year!” San’s arms look like they don’t know what to do, frenzied movements and quivering eyes. The blonde scoots closer, hands flying out to grab his own, shaking them overzealously. “Hey, I know this is great and all but don’t force yourself to remember or feel pressured to, okay?”

Wooyoung nods, but the excitement that San is radiating is contagious. He’s bouncing in his seat, a wide smile blown fully across his face and this is the happiest Wooyoung has ever seen San in the last two months.

“Wait.” Wooyoung pauses, scrambling for his phone. He’d left it lying around somewhere in the sheets, but the blankets are a mess around him and he can’t feel for it. “I need to write these things down to put in my journal later.”

“Journal?” The word arouses San’s curiosity. “Do you write down all the memories that come back to you?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung lifts himself from where he’s sitting and pats down on the bed, but he still can’t find his phone. “They’re never complete memories, most of them are so fuzzy that they barely give me important info. But any kind of recollection is one step closer to triggering full ones.”

“Okay, maybe I can just text you everything you can remember. Just repeat it back to me.”

“Uh,” Wooyoung’s forehead creases, eyebrows drawing together. “Help run my mind back?”

“Chatime.” San assists him as he types out the details. “We went out after my exam and I got the wrong drink, and to make me feel better you let me drink the rest of yours while you took the one I didn’t like.” He smiles at the memory. “And I could tell that you were having a hard time drinking it because you don’t like to stray from your usual orders, but you knew I was already upset from earlier so you did anything you could to make me feel better.”

The older explains the events of the day with animated gestures, eyes lighting up when he calls up a funny moment, or a ridiculous expression Wooyoung had made. Most of it he can only recall vaguely, but they feel true. He pauses every so often during the story to make sure the flood of information isn't too overwhelming, and Wooyoung tells him to keep going, even if only to keep that delight look on his face for a little while longer. It’s such a sight to see, and no matter how familiar it is, it never loses its magic.

It’s like he’s a drought, parched for even the lightest of drizzle, and Wooyoung comes in with the rain when he needs it most. He’d been gentle and enduring for so long, steps slowing to match his pace on a road that they weren’t even sure had an end.

Wooyoung’s heart swirls around the shackles of the hundreds of yesterdays, lost at sea with no surety to anchor him. And yet, even when all the sea does is take, San still dives in with no qualms about drowning, simply to keep him company. He sinks with him beneath the cerulean waves, and suddenly the hues of the water become so vibrant, an ocean blue that nothing could quite compare to. He’d made the vastness of the ocean so alive and full, so that as they climb to the surface there’s no apprehension in him that they’d get there, no ounce of doubt that there would be a hand to hold his the whole way up.

He patiently sows hope in vague promises, letting optimism drive him through uncertainty. Like he wakes up every morning replete with faith that things will find its way back to its natural place. Wooyoung could thank him time and time again but even then it’s not enough to relay how grateful he is for San to be so unobtrusive, so understanding of just how difficult it is for Wooyoung to spend his days scourging the wreckage of his mind, how wretched it feels to be unable to collect all the fragments of his forgotten seconds.

San has always been one of the most beautiful souls Wooyoung has ever come across. So affable and kindhearted, the kind of person everyone loved. It’s what he admires the most about San, his ability to make people like him, simply by being himself. He’s the single ray of sun peeking out through the dark clouds in the middle of the destructive storms in his head. From the way his little giggles could turn Wooyoung’s sour mood around in an instant, or how the wrinkles near his eyes when he smiles send circus performers into wild trapeze acts in his stomach. He likes him for his enthusiasm to learn new things and how he excels at almost everything he tries, his pretty singing voice, how he’d unconsciously pick up a habit of Wooyoung’s until it became theirs. San is so many incredible things all bottled into one person and it’s sort of crazy to Wooyoung that he exists. 

It’s not hard to lose track of time with him, and Wooyoung thinks it’s because San always loves to make every second worth it. That’s things like holding Wooyoung’s hand and encouraging him to ramble on about everything and anything he loves. It’s him listening intently to every word Wooyoung has to say, watching and admiring every smile and picking up on every frown. It’s making him feel safe and able to display unrestrained delight or sorrow. It’s laying with him for a minute and instead of offering a basket fruitful of advice, he sings to him and lets comfort subdue his uneasiness. He’s where the insecurity fades for just a moment, because just a moment to be able to breathe is more than he could ask for. Somehow even moments like these, the quiet ones, are the ones that speak the loudest. 

And Wooyoung isn’t dumb. He knows that all of this sudden realization holds a lot more weight that he wants to allow it. It’s unusual to spew poems of beauty and adoration with denial fastened tightly around his waist. But that’s just how his brain works, deny and deny until he’s convinced himself it’s true. It’s not like Wooyoung is _actively_ hoping for something, not after everything that’s made him scared of risking heartbreak for short-term pleasure. There’s no reason for him to disrupt the natural flow of things, he needs to get a grip on himself.

From the corner of his eye he sees San punch in his phone passcode after grumbling about how it hadn’t recognized his fingerprint, and a sudden wave of comprehension washes over him.

0922.

“_That’s_ what it is!” The unexpected loudness of his voice causes San to jump, holding his phone to his chest protectively. The older gives him a questioning look, waiting for an explanation for the outburst. “Your passcode, I was wondering why the numbers seemed familiar when you told me that one time. It’s our friendship anniversary, isn’t it? It totally slipped my mind last time.”

The shock on his face only grows. “Y-Yeah, it is…” San continues to stare wide-eyed, still huddled in the corner of his bed.

Wooyoung processes the information, heart thumping against his ribs. Not once had he ever expected to be the meaning behind someone’s password, not even Yeosang’s. It’s adorable, that San cherishes their friendship so much that even something as trivial as a phone passcode has to be something meaningful to them. And then a lopsided grin plasters itself onto his face. He crawls closer, tilting his head with a teasing edge to his voice. “You like me that much, huh?”

San scoffs in disbelief, sitting back up and causing Wooyoung to fall back onto his butt. “More like you threatened to label me a bad person if I didn’t make my passcode something that related to you.”

“But you still _did it~_” He sings playfully, poking at the blonde’s shoulder.

San glares at him, “Only because you wouldn’t stop whining until I did it.” He inches closer, eyes now determined. “Now tell me again, who likes the other?” 

The proximity sends his mind into overdrive, but all he can do is pretend. 

He pretends the fire burning in his chest is from the ridiculous amount of layers he has on under San’s fleece blanket, pretends he doesn’t nuzzle up to the flame and anticipate the sickening sweetness that hits him with every word San utters. He pretends he doesn’t crave the warmth lost when San gets up to grab him water and he pretends he’s freezing cold when the blonde returns just so that warmth comes back closer.

Deny and deny he does, because it’s all he’s known.

* * *

_It’s the first Christmas he’s spending alone. _

_He says it’s okay. His friends wanted to start their vacations early, even prodded Wooyoung on joining them. But Wooyoung said that he’d be fine staying back at home for the holidays; it was just one Christmas after all, he could spend it with television shows and piles of junk food. And it’s not often that Mingi and Yeosang had much free time to get away and just be by themselves, or that San got to see his family back home in Korea. He didn’t want to be an impediment to anyone else’s break._

_But as he finds himself stuck in his empty apartment, in the middle of a heavy snowfall without any of his friends around him, the regret starts to sink in. He’d thought that he’d at least have San, but as fate would have it, his boyfriend had to stay back for a few more nights before coming home. So, he sits in the quiet living room, with nothing to do and no one to spend the holiday with and he’s totally _not_ sulking. _

_His suite isn’t even decorated in the slightest_ _—no indication of Christmas anywhere. Maybe if he distracted himself enough it would feel just like any other day. Except that there are pictures of everyone and their families all over social media and now he can’t even scroll through Instagram without getting upset. _

_Wooyoung doesn’t want to be mad at San for not being able to be with him for Christmas_ _—he’d gone to Korea at the beginning of the month to visit his extended family, and it was hard for him to find the time to do so, with school and work piling up. But as much as he acts like he’s okay over their texts, he misses seeing his face every day, and now the few more days that he has to wait to see him feels like a lifetime. _

_Wooyoung decides he hates winter._

_Outside of his apartment, he hears laughing in the hall, kids probably running over to their friends’ house or a group of carolers going from suite to suite. He sighs attempting to crank up his non-seasonal music (he didn’t want to be reminded of the mistletoes he wouldn’t have anyone to stand underneath with) to drown out the loudness outside._

_He hears a knocking at his door, and at first he thinks that it’s a group of carolers coming to awkwardly force him to stand through a song, or someone coming to talk to him with pamphlets. He’s not fond of either option so he leaves it alone, but the knocking happens a few more times that whoever it is had eventually developed a rhythm, now knocking to the tune of Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Wooyoung is ready to whack this nuisance in the face with a stocking full of coal. _

_“I’m not interested_ _—” He starts as he’s opening the door, but when he comes face to face with the person on the other side of the door, he freezes. _

_“Are you breaking up with me?” San pouts, clutching at his heart and leaning against the frame of his door dramatically._

_Wooyoung breaks into a smile and more or less hurls himself into the boy, jumping up and throwing his arms around him as San picks him up into a hug. “San, oh my God, you’re here!” San chuckles, sweeping away the hair falling over Wooyoung’s eyes when they pull back. “Wait, how are you here? You told me last night that you were going to be in Korea until Friday.” _

_“Well, I was supposed to be there, but I got a tip off from Yeosang last week that you were going to be alone for Christmas. And me, being the great boyfriend I am, have come to your rescue!” San explains proudly, the punch that Wooyoung delivers to his chest._

_“I can’t believe you.” Wooyoung pouts, closing the door behind him as San saunters into the familiar room, making himself at home on the couch. “How could you not tell me?”_

_San snorts, “That’s not how surprises work, babe.” Wooyoung flushes slightly at the pet name; it’s not like it’s the first time he’s heard it, they’ve been dating for almost a year already, been best friends for six. But it’s rare that they’re ever apart, and it’s been a little under a month since he’s seen San, so tangible with his warm, bubbly self in his stupidly cute Christmas sweater and he’s missed him so much. He’s missed the feeling of being safe in San’s strong arms, misses all of his tender kisses and if San doesn’t initiate anything the second he reaches the couch then he’s going to be a little upset. _

_But he soon learns that San always gives him what he wants without having to be asked, because he’s immediately pulling Wooyoung in by the waist, smiling up at him softly and Wooyoung wants nothing more than to keep him here forever, with him. He puckers his lips once, his gentle voice beckoning him. “Come here.” _

_And usually, Wooyoung wouldn’t give in without a little bit of teasing, but he’s gone a month without his boyfriend, so he finds his patience degenerating with every second he looks at San as he’s leaning in, quickly capturing San’s lips with his. San hums, satisfied, pulling Wooyoung further down until he’s sat in his lap. “I missed you.” San mumbles against his lips. _

_Wooyoung smiles into the kiss, pecking him a few more times before muttering, “Of course you did.” _

_San bites down on his bottom lip with that, and even though it’s supposed to be seen as some sort of punishment for ruining the touching moment, they both know that Wooyoung likes it when he does that. So really, no one’s complaining, especially not Wooyoung. “Wouldn’t kill you to say it back.” _

_Wooyoung hums in agreement, “Yeah, but it would kill you and I’ve decided to be nice this Christmas.” _

_San pulls away, putting his hands on either side of Wooyoung’s face and squishes his cheeks together. “How considerate.” _

_Wooyoung gently bumps their foreheads together, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, but there’s not much to do. I think I’ve exhausted every single movie to exist since the break started and I’ve grown tired of watching.” _

_San glances around the room inquisitively. It’s not like there’s much to look at_ _—it’s a small, common area with an unfortunate lack of entertainment. He feels a little bad now because he knows that San probably would have a better time if he was in Korea with his family for the holidays. The older gets up from the bed, “Let’s go down to the entertainment lounge, that’s open for the tenants, right?” _

_Wooyoung nods, “Yeah, I just hope there’s no one in there right now. I’m not up for seeing anyone else.” _

_San throws him a look over his shoulder, "I’m the only one you need, right?”_

_Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “I mean, I guess you’re tolerable.” _

_San scoffs, walking to the refrigerator to grab two water bottles and tossing one to him. “Right. And that’s why you launched yourself at me as soon as you saw me, because I’m _tolerable_.” _

_“Keep talking and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”_

_To Wooyoung’s relief, they end up being the only ones in the entertainment lounge when they get there. It’s a pretty cozy place_ _—Wooyoung hasn’t spent a substantial amount of time here in the last few months he’s lived in the building, save for the few times that Mingi and Yeosang dragged him with them to play a game of pool despite all of their skills being horrible inadequate. In fact, Wooyoung is ninety-nine percent sure that they only played so that pre-dating Mingi could assist Yeosang with the game as an excuse to have his arms around him. _

_The room is decorated as per the holiday, with red and green tinsels lining the top perimeter of the wall, a small Christmas tree placed atop the side table near the couches. It’s clear that someone has been here recently, if the mountain of garbage on one of the booth tables is any indication. Wooyoung likes to think that his impeccable timing has always been one of his strong suits, and the fact that they’re able to avoid people even though there are plenty of other people in the building in need of things to do only further supports it._

_They spend a length of their night playing the various forms of entertainment that the room had to offer, from foosball (“That’s not where you’re supposed to be scoring San, that’s your own goal.” “What if I’m just scoring on my own goal for you?” “You’re not generous you’re just dumb.”) to air hockey (“You cheated!” Wooyoung shouts as San scores a goal even after Wooyoung called for a small time out to take his cardigan off. “That’s ridiculous, Wooyoung. Why would I date a hockey puck?” “I fucking hate you.”) to Call of Duty at the console station (“This isn't a very festive game to play on Christmas.” “We’ve always been an unorthodox couple.” “That would be true if we were actually a _couple_.” “Would you get over the air hockey thing already?” “Never.”)._

_They _ _take it as their cue to leave when they see a small group of teenagers file into the lounge, politely declining when they ask them if they want to join them in a game of beer pong. Half because it’s a little weird drinking with strangers and half because he knows how rowdy San gets when he’s drunk, even more so than how he usually is and it’s every kind of ridiculous and Wooyoung doesn’t want to deal with a drunk San._

_Their _ _dinner is a lot lackluster than he’s used to—every Christmas he’s had so far had consisted of a table full of food, a whole feast with something delicious wafting throughout the house. He remembers always watching as his mother took out her numerous trays of food out of the oven and set them up on the dining table, and how he would always sneak some food into his room before his guests had arrived. It’s a lot different this year as he and San are seated back on the living room couch with their instant ramen cups and the television playing across from them as they catch the finale of a drama they had been watching online together. _

_After _ _dinner, they find themselves sprawled about on Wooyoung’s bed, San lying with his head falling over the edge while Wooyoung’s head is rested on his chest, rising and falling slowly with his breaths. They lie in silence for a while, able to quietly appreciate each other’s presence with the unspoken sentiment floating through the air above them. Wooyoung hums softly to the Christmas song playing (San had finally managed to convince him to put on his holiday playlist) as he feels San’s fingers playing with his hair._

_Perhaps _ _it’s the fact that San had changed his fate of being alone this Christmas with his surprise visit that triggers the bad luck, but soon Wooyoung is curled up under his blanket, huddled at the corner of his bed against the wall as he hears fireworks going off outside as it nears midnight. He’s always hated the sound of fireworks, ever since he was a kid, every time there was a celebration that called for the loud sounds, he’s always stayed like this at the corner of his bed with his ears covered by his blankets as best as he can to drown out the frightful noise. He can hear the voices of the kids who are setting off the fireworks, cheering and laughing outside but he doesn’t see why it’s anything to be happy about, especially when he feels something welling up at the rims of his eyes and his surroundings start to get bleary. _

_He _ _feels San get off of the bed, and then he’s watching as the blanket he’s using to cover himself up with slips out of his grasp. He screeches, attempting to grab at it but San is crawling towards him and taking his face in his hands, fingers caressing his cheeks as he whispers soft shushes. Wooyoung is still shaking, hands coming up to cover his ears as he tries to scrunch further into himself. San pulls away again, allowing Wooyoung to let his head fall to his knees, curling up into a ball._

_“Hey, let’s build a fort.” He hears San say, enthusiastic in spite of Wooyoung’s current state._

_Wooyoung breathes out harshly, “You’re dumb, I’d rather stay in bed and cry.” _

_San clacks his tongue, “Get your ass up, we’re building this goddamn pillow fort.” Wooyoung lifts his head up slightly as he watches San take the pillows from his bed and place them on the floor atop of the blanket he had stolen from him. Then he’s holding his hand out, motioning for Wooyoung to take it. “Let’s go, we’re gonna raid Mingi’s and Yeosang’s rooms of their pillows."_

_After a few sounds of protesting and San’s persuading, Wooyoung finds himself being dragged off of his bed and out of his room. His hands are still cupped over his ears as San pulls him across the hall into Yeosang’s room. San makes a beeline towards his bed and starts pilling his pillows on top of Wooyoung’s cradling arms. When San is hastily flinging Yeosang’s blanket from off of his bed, Wooyoung barely has time to warn him before he’s knocking over one of Yeosang’s fake plants on top of his nightstand. The fake succulent is sent flying onto the floor, and the pot that was holding it shatters into pieces across the floor. “Oh shit.” _

_“Way to fucking go, you clumsy idiot.” _

_“No _ _one saw that.” San says in feigned cluelessness, not even bothering to clean up the mess he made as he’s grabbing up the rest of the blankets and pushing Wooyoung out of the room. Soon, they’re back in Wooyoung’s room and Wooyoung is curled up in the corner of his bed again as he watches as San attempts to transform the empty space in his room into a pillow fort. After they had come back with Mingi’s and Yeosang’s pillows and blankets, San had taken a trip to the kitchen this time and Wooyoung had watched as San hauled their kitchen chairs into his room. _

_San _ _places two chairs on one side of the room, slightly spread apart, and then moves the other two to mirror them. After he has the backbone of the fort set up, he’s lifting the blankets up into the air, positioning them so that all four chairs are covered. And then he’s moving Wooyoung’s bean bag underneath the sheets of blankets and throwing the rest of the pillows in there with it. When he’s finished he emerges from out of the fort and gestures to the entrance. “Welcome to Fort Woosan! Population Wooyoung and San.” _

_Wooyoung _ _rolls his eyes but still cracks a small smile, feeling the dry tears on his cheeks but the watering in his eyes has lessened. San holds a hand out for him and he takes it, following his boyfriend into his fort that he even had time to line the inside with Wooyoung’s stringy fairy lights. It’s a lot nicer than he expected it to be. It’s small, as to be expected with the size of his room. They’re squished up against each other in the cramped fort as he climbs into San’s lap, sitting propped up against the bean bag and nuzzles into the older’s chest and God, he hates him but he loves him so much. “You’re stupid.” He mumbles into the fabric of San’s sweater, the tears soon coming back, but it’s no longer from the fireworks._

_“Do you like it?” _

_“I _ _love it.” Wooyoung says softly, wrapping his arms tightly around San’s torso as San tightens his hold around him. A particularly loud firework goes off and Wooyoung jumps a little, but San calms him down, rubbing circular motions on his back as he rocks them side to side._

_“You want me to sing you a song?”_

_“I don’t think anyone wants that.” He’s kidding, of course. San flicks his forehead, laughing along with him. And then he does it anyways, purposefully _ _singing off-key to Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. He’s not even sure if these are the right lyrics and he’s pretty sure this isn’t even English, or _any_ language for that matter but he’s trying so hard to make him laugh and it makes Wooyoung feel extremely warm inside._

_He _ _misses the small moments like this, rather than big, planned outings. Not that he doesn’t appreciate San’s presence in everything they do, but he thinks that the times that they’re just with each other, lazing around in each other’s embrace and nothing has to be said because they already know everything they want to say to each other, has to be one of his favorite things. Just being with San is as natural as breathing—he’s the air that fills his lungs with so much care and assurance that it makes bearing the weight of the world so much easier. Wooyoung doesn’t need fancy dinners or amusement parks to know that he loves San._

_“How are you holding up?” San asks him softly. Wooyoung had made it pretty obvious the stress that had come with starting grad school, having to figure things out on his own, attempting to live his life without the constant reliance on his parents. It was basically a mid-life crisis at twenty-three, and things were only getting harder and harder to deal with. _

_“It’s been rough. Sometimes I just don’t feel like I know where I’m going, what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m already so far into my plan without actually knowing what’s ahead. I don’t know, a lot of the time I just feel really lost.” He lets his thoughts surface, eyes trained on fairy lights above them. _

_“I’ve always told you that you should believe in yourself as much as I do.” San’s reminder is gentle, his hand his patting at his arm rhythmically. “If things get too much, I’m always here to help you.”_

_“I know.” Wooyoung tells him, because he does. San reaches out, tenderly brushing the hair out of his eyes, finger running down the side of his face and his hand comes to rest against his cheek, turning his face and pulling him closer until their lips meet. Wooyoung can feel the goosebumps breaking out over his skin as his eyes flutter shut at the delicate bringing together of their lips. It’s the kind of delight that comes with every moment with San, the kind that never gets old, no matter how many times they do this. When San’s lips leave his, he finds himself smiling. “I may feel lost sometimes, but there are three things I know for sure.” _

_San hums, the lethargy clear in his voice, and Wooyoung feels his lids getting heavier as well. “Hmm, what are they?”_

_“One, life is always going to be confusing and challenging and demanding.” San lets out a quiet ‘true’, then lets him continue. “Two, sometimes you can’t avoid feeling hopeless, like wanting to give up when things aren’t going well and wondering if there’s really much to live for.” _

_“And what’s the last one?” _

_Wooyoung _ _looks up at San, taking in every angle, every feature of his face. From the lift of the corners of his eyes, to the slope of his nose, to the outlines of his lips, to the angle of his jaw. All of him is beautiful and all of him is_his_. San meets his eyes with his own, and there’s that familiar gleam in his eyes that tells him everything, says so much more things than either of them could ever put into words. Wooyoung searches the sea of hickory, grounding him like an anchor and keeping his heart steadfast despite the many ways he throws his emotions into an uncontrollable spiral of everything from frustration to desire to yearning to absolute devotion. San lets his eyes flutter back open when the silence stretches for too long, waiting for his answer. _

_Wooyoung smiles at him with all of the fondness in the world, every look is so filled with affection that he doesn’t even have to think about doubting_ them_ for a second. He feels his eyes shutting shortly after, sleep wanting to take him. With the last of his strength, he drives out the words._

_“All things considered, I want to live the rest of my life loving you.” _

_☾_


	3. Chapter 3

iii. 

_forget tomorrows and yesterdays_  
_today is only for us  
_ _don’t let go, please stay_

When Wooyoung wakes up, it’s with a violent gasp, hands coming up to grasp at his neck when it feels like the air is being knocked out of his lungs. There’s a wet sensation on both of his cheeks, and not until he reaches up and touches the skin underneath his eyes does he realize he’d been crying.

He’s had vivid dreams before—dreams that made him feel like he was actually falling, ones that had made him wonder if they had actually been real. But this was different. This had Wooyoung questioning the matter of if it was really just that, a _dream_. It felt nothing like one; it was almost like a distant memory, in spite of the many ways it couldn’t be true. It’s a fact of the matter, that San is one of his best friends, one that would stick with him through thick and thin, one that he didn’t want to lose. It’d be a lie to say he hadn’t entertained the idea at least once. But that’s all it was meant to stay as, a could be but won’t be. 

That dream couldn’t be real, Wooyoung has never been so sure of anything else.

It doesn’t stop it from invading his mind almost every second of that day though, occupying every surface of his brain and throwing him off his game when San comes over to play video games.

“God, this dream I had is like, trying to traumatize me or something. It’s ridiculous.” He says apropos of nothing but the growing trepidation in his stomach from the second San had walked into their apartment. They’d just finished their tenth round of Mario Kart, San having won for the eighth time and Wooyoung refusing to be upset about it.

“What was it?” San inquires, stuffing a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

Wooyoung debates telling him, because doesn’t want to sound crazy. But then again, maybe hearing San laugh about how absurd it is with him will make him feel a little less bugged out. He lets out a small laugh before he answers, trying to level out his voice as much as possible. “You kissed me.”

San’s hand stop midway through the bag of chips, quickly drawing his arm out of it and placing the bag back on the coffee table and going for some water instead. Wooyoung watches his every move, from the way he gulps down the entire three-fourths of what’s left of his glass, to the shaky hands that wipe his mouth when he’s done. “Oh.” Is all he decides to say after a long pause, and Wooyoung isn’t sure what to do with this reaction.

“Oh?”

“You kiss people all the time, don’t you?”

Wooyoung lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, frowning slightly. “Uh, well, I kiss Seonghwa on the cheek sometimes but that’s different.”

“Different how?”

“He’s Seonghwa.”

San casts him an indefinable look, uncrossing his legs and planting his feet back on the hardwood floor. “And?”

Wooyoung worries at his lower lip, still absentmindedly pressing at the A button on the controller. “And… you’re San.”

San’s eyebrows rise, only a few seconds before they’re snapping together, and his slacked mouth crooks into a self-deprecating smile. The corner of his lip twitches, and his head turns away from him. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung hears the hurt in his voice and realizes he might not have worded that properly. “No, I just mean.. we—we’re not like that.”

The laugh that comes out of the taller is bitter, lower and completely uncharacteristic of him. “You’re right.. you’re right we’re not, sorry.”

Wooyoung tries to put a hand on San’s shoulder but he jerks away in a way that he maybe doesn’t mean to, and Wooyoung doesn’t mean to feel a surging, aching pain through his body at the action but he does. For a second Wooyoung sees regret flash across San’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. He tries to swallow down the lump forming in his throat but it’s of no use, the feeling won’t go away. “San.. why are you acting like this?”

San holds up his hands defensively, standing up from the couch. The blonde has always been full of fire, voice of steel and a gut full of determination. “You know what, forget about it.”

The tone he uses makes Wooyoung feel horrible, gritty and passive-aggressive. “Why are you getting mad at me?”

“I’m not.” San says through clenched teeth, closing his eyes. “I’m just… tired.” The silence that follows is anything but comfortable, like they’ve laid down a road of eggshells in between each other and they refuse to take any steps closer. The older looks at him with sad eyes. It looks like there’s so much he wants to say but isn’t letting himself and it’s killing Wooyoung that not even he can convince him that it’s okay to talk. San breaks the silence first, grabbing his phone and heading towards the door. “Sorry, I guess I’m just not feeling well. I think I’m just gonna go home.”

And Wooyoung can’t even stop him, because the entire situation baffles him enough to suspend him where he sits, now alone on the couch with an empty feeling on his right side.

Days later and San acts like nothing had happened, or at least he tries to, but his intermittent replies and standoffishness don’t fly over Wooyoung’s head—no, they just stick needles into every exposed area of his skin and pierce through him. Every prick is a ‘you’ve done something wrong but you’re too dumb to figure out what it is’, and it does nothing to stop the dread that overcomes him.

Sure, sometimes he and San would have petty arguments, like when Wooyoung would drive himself crazy trying to plan his life by the second and falling apart when it didn’t go exactly the way he wanted it to. Or when San would take a joke the wrong way and let his anger flare up, stepping away when he can’t control his irritation. And maybe this is something along those lines, it’s just that Wooyoung hasn’t the slightest clue _why_ he’d been so vexed.

It badgers him the entire time he’s cleaning his room, every second step he takes across the floor is a question or a reason. Surely he couldn’t have thought Wooyoung meant they weren’t good enough friends to be able to do things like that. Maybe he’d been doing plenty of things wrong over the entire week, and maybe they’d built up a dissatisfaction in San until that one thing finally set it off. And it’s not that he’d meant it in a bad way, he was just... stating a fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the two of them don’t kiss.

As he’s preoccupied with his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the object he sweeps out from the back of his desk until it makes a sound against the dustpan. He comes to his senses, crouching down to pick up the _something_ that had gotten caught in the rest of the dust. 

It’s a bracelet, one which individual pieces you’d find in a friendship bracelet making kit. Not until he sees it does Wooyoung realize how empty his wrist had been feeling all of this time. Black threads are woven together, jogging his memory back to senior year, when he’d first received the gift.

Wooyoung remembers clear as day the torment that came with his first big transition between schools. Sure, in retrospect, high school might have been easier to handle in comparison to post-secondary. But on that first day as a freshman, as someone that young it was the newest thing he had experienced, and new things were always hard. As a young child, just barely a teen, his future had always seemed like something he could never reach, something that would never come to him because he didn’t know how to get to it, didn’t even know where to start. The fear had never left him, not through sophomore year, not through junior, not even through senior. He couldn’t remember a point in his life when he’d ever been sure of anything, that he could ever have full faith in something positive to come to him. 

“Wooyoung, would you stop worrying about your application for a few minutes and eat something?” San had tapped on the table just next to Wooyoung’s laptop to get the older’s attention. “You still have like two months to finish it, don’t worry about it too much.”

Wooyoung sighed heavily, resting his cheek against his palm, repeatedly jabbing his index finger at the delete button on his laptop. “Easy for you to say, you have your whole future planned out already. I don’t even know why I’m applying for university yet.”

“I’ve already told you that you don’t have to have everything figured out yet.” San reminded him, closing the younger’s laptop for him and holding out a spoonful of rice for Wooyoung to eat. He hadn’t refused the food, though he still reached out to re-open his laptop, until San smacked his hand with his spoon. “Take a year off! It’s not like you have to get everything done so early in life. You have so much time to think about what you want to do, don't force it.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint my parents.” Wooyoung admitted sullenly, “They have so much expectations for me. And as much as I want to live up to them and make them happy, I just.. don’t know what I want to do with my life. Everyone is so sure about what they want to do and where they want to go, but I feel like I’m just floating in this ambiguous space that I’ll never get out of.”

“It’s okay to not be sure.” San reached over to pat the back of his hand, “We’re still young, we have the rest of our lives ahead of us to figure things out. If it’s not going to make you happy, then why force yourself through it? I know you want to be a good son, but an important part of making your parents happy is being happy yourself. I’m sure they’ll understand, and they’ll be proud of you regardless.”

Wooyoung kicked his feet into the air, too wrapped up in his thoughts to respond. After a few moments, San perked up with an idea, “Come with me. I know a way we can clear our heads.”

He didn’t know how it happened, but after a million complaints and a forceful dragging later, Wooyoung found himself at the bottom off a mass of stairs, staring up at the trail above him. “You’re seriously gonna make us hike all the way up there?” Wooyoung lamented, already mourning his legs. “Just the walk alone is gonna take up the rest of the day.”

“It’s fine! Let’s go!” San made his way up the stairs, up and up until Wooyoung was huffing and gasping for air behind him.

“Do we.. have to… keep going..?”

“Yeah, the view is amazing up there!” San chirped, not looking at all affected by the arduous walk up.

“Why is always it so hard to get to where you wanna be?” Wooyoung whined, still bent over with his hands on his thighs. “Why can’t the good things be on easy ground where I can actually reach them?”

San put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto his left leg. “You are really out of character today. What happened to the Wooyoung that loves adventures?” Wooyoung frowned, and San just held his hands up in a shrug. “You can give up here, but I’m gonna keep going!”

And with that, the older boy continued up the stairs, skipping lightly. Wooyoung groaned loudly but followed behind, arms swaying heavily against his sides. A while later, they finally reached a grassy area, surrounded by towering trees, beds of magnolias and mimosas, and a calm stillness in the air. The two of them traipsed through the tall grass towards the far end of the field. San took Wooyoung just a few meters away from the cliff, sitting himself against the furthest tree. He patted the grass just next to him and Wooyoung took his seat beside him, falling onto his back with heavy breaths.

The older scoffed at his struggle, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely.” Wooyoung huffed out, shutting his eyes tight when the sun hit him. “How’d you find this place anyways? How often do you come up here?”

San shrugged, “When I’m feeling down or want to run away from things, I come up here and it’s peaceful.” The older leaned his head onto the tree, looking up at the sky.

“Your safe haven is near the edge of a cliff?” Wooyoung chuckled when San thumped him on the leg.

“Okay if you ignore _that_ aspect, it’s nice, isn’t it?”

Wooyoung sat up and looked around thoughtfully, pulling his legs closer into him. “Yeah, it is. If you ignore how high it is and that we could possibly fall to our deaths.”

“Ugh, you are impossible Jung Wooyoung.” They fell into a silence, with Wooyoung lying on his stomach, hands cupping at his cheeks as he constantly switched his focus between the sky and San. The older broke the silence first, head tilting to lean on his right shoulder. “Don’t you feel a little weird, too?”

Wooyoung arched a brow, “About what?”

“Graduating.” San clarified, a distant look in his eyes. “It’s so surreal, like those four years had just flow by with a single snap of the finger. It’s kind of exciting.”

“I wouldn’t say exciting, exactly.” Wooyoung mumbled, “Terrifying? Yeah.”

“Oh, come on. The future isn’t that scary.”

“It might not be for you, but for someone as lost as me?” Wooyoung sucked in a breath, body coiling like a spring a second away from breaking. “Kinda feels like I’m about to step off that cliff over there, into a whole bunch of nothing.”

“You wouldn’t hit nothing, you’d hit the ground.” San corrected him.

“Uh, yeah, but I wouldn’t be able to get back up.”

San pursed his lips, “Well, what if I was down there with a safety air mat?”

“How would you know I was gonna fall?” Wooyoung challenged, though his voice faltered, maybe because he didn’t expect for San to turn one of his redundant pessimistic remarks back on him.

“You just told me.” The older threw back, looking satisfied when Wooyoung backed down. “If you feel like it’s right for you, then trust your gut and go with it.” San encouraged, and for a second Wooyoung didn’t know what he was referring to. “University, I mean. You said you were interested in psychology. Maybe one day, you can also help struggling kids find their way.”

“It’s not that simple.” Wooyoung breathed out, “to just say you want to be something and then become it.”

“If you let it be then maybe it could.”

Wooyoung looked up to meet San’s eyes, slowly becoming convinced. But soon enough he was sighing heavily, eyes falling down to his fiddling fingers. “Do you think I could ever amount to something?”

San’s eyes softened, pulling his knees up into himself and placing his arms on them, resting his chin on his arms. “I think you’re meant to do amazing things.” The older looked contemplative of something, and then after a few beats, he reached into his pocket and looked at Wooyoung tentatively, before holding out a closed fist. “Here, open your hand.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just open your hand.” San pressed on, voice wavering slightly. Wooyoung didn’t question him any further and opened his hand, where San placed a stringy object.

Wooyoung brought it closer to get a better look, “Is this a bracelet?”

“I made it.” San said quietly, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. My little cousin came over and wanted me to help her make friendship bracelets and I thought it would be fun to make us some.” The older let another bracelet dangle from his hands, one with his initial hanging from it.

San looked over at him, perhaps for any signs of acceptance or rejection. Soon, Wooyoung was breaking out into a warm smile, wrapping the bracelet around his wrist. “Cool, it’s my favorite color too.”

The taller breathed a sigh of relief, and the corners of his mouth quirked up. “It’s a good thing my cousin didn’t care for the dark colors, I had plenty of black for you.”

“Let me help you with yours.” Wooyoung reached out to take San’s own purple bracelet and put it on for him. “You can’t lose that, okay? Our friendship is over if you do.”

“Never!” San had agreed, then fell onto his back and proceeded to talk circles of praises around Wooyoung until the sun had started to go down.

It’s that same bracelet, he’s sure of it, but hanging just next to his _W_ is San’s _S_ charm that hadn’t been there before. He tries to run his mind back on the last few weeks, he can’t remember if he’d ever seen San with the bracelet on. Maybe he’d lost the bracelet and saved the charm, hooking it onto Wooyoung’s bracelet instead. It’s a bit of an unpleasant thought, but he can understand if San had accidentally lost it. He wonders if he’d ever gotten upset with San about it, and if it had anything to do with the weird_ something_ that keeps floating in the air around them. 

Leaving questions for later, he ties the bracelet around his wrist, and then gets up to continue cleaning.

It’s late evening when San comes around, knocking at their door with a white plastic bag in his hand. Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the sight of him; he hadn’t expected him to stop by, and his state of being isn’t exactly the most appealing right now. And it shouldn’t matter, since this is San and there should be no shame in being a little sloppy in front of him because he’s seen this all before. But somehow, in this moment, it does. “H-hi.” Wooyoung stammers out, ruffling his messy hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I just came by to drop this off.” San holds out the plastic bag for Wooyoung to take, then stuffs his hands back into his hoodie pocket. The blonde sounds as tired as he looks, like he hasn’t slept properly in days. “Just... passed by your favorite restaurant on the way home from work today and thought you might be craving it so..”

There’s an unexpected pang in his chest as he looks down at the container of food, fingers fiddling with the plastic. “Thanks.” He mumbles, looking down at his feet. “Uh, why don’t you come in? We could share this.”

“I can’t stay.” San declines hastily, letting his arms drop back to his sides. “Just stopped to give you this.”

The older turns to leave but Wooyoung’s hand flies out to grab at his wrist before he knows it. San turns back hesitantly, not fully facing him. Wooyoung opens his mouth to say something, trying not to let uncertainty hinder him. “Can we talk? I feel like something’s wrong here and I don’t like it.”

The blonde’s eyes travel down, and Wooyoung follows it onto the black bracelet circling his arm. If San’s gut plummeting to the ground displays itself in his facial expressions, Wooyoung definitely catches it, and it makes him queasy. “Nothing’s wrong.” He insists with a shaky voice and ducks his head, trying to pull his arm from Wooyoung’s grip. While Wooyoung doesn’t let go, he does loosen his grip, and really, San could run away now if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t.

“San, can you please tell me what's wrong?” Wooyoung presses softly, the wear of his dry throat starting to show. “I don’t want to apologize without knowing what I’m apologizing for. I'm not trying to be clueless, I'm really not. I just need you to help me out here.”

The taller tenses up even more, inching forward just a bit. “I don’t—I don’t want an apology…” He presses his lips together, pulling his arms further into his hoodie until his sleeves are hanging past his fingertips. Wooyoung lets go of his arm, waiting for him to continue. San brings his arms together in front of him, head hanging low. “I know this might be insensitive of me, but… I just, I want you to remember one thing.”

Wooyoung gulps at that, “What?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Wooyoung can practically hear the gears turning in his head. And then, after drawing in a long breath, he answers the question. “I want you to remember the last thing you said to me.”

Wooyoung flinches at the sheer, unveiled desperation that borders the request, the unadulterated need for him to do this one thing. Except Wooyoung can’t promise anything, because no matter how much he wants to remember everything, it’s going to take a lot more than just wishing for them to come back. But he doesn’t know how to tell San no, so he settles for a slow nod, wordlessly watching as San retreats down the hall.

It’s around eleven at night, just about the time Yeosang is supposed to be getting home, and only now that Wooyoung decides to open up the container of spicy rice cakes that San had brought for him. The first thing that hits him when he takes a mouthful is the smell, the spice wafting into the air in front of him. It’s not usually a strong smell, but it’s strong in the moment, so strong that it races straight to his brain and attempts to squeeze a memory out of it.

He hears the chime of a door, faint chattering, and the voice of an old lady welcoming him like she’s known him for years. There’s sizzling meat just in front of him, and towards him come fresh hot plates of spicy rice cakes. A pair of chopsticks reach his plate before his own, and across the table he sees San, blonde much more yellow than presently. He holds the cylinder between his chopsticks, bringing it close to blow at it, and then reaching back to hold it just before Wooyoung’s mouth. _“Here, accept this as a token of my apologies.”_

_“You know I won’t stay mad at you."_

_“I know.” _

_"Just as long as you take me here every day for the rest of eternity." _

_"I'll take you here forever."_ And then San is smiling, chin propped up against his hand and head tilted, a look of adoration aimed at him. _“Hey… You know that I love—”_

_Knock. Knock. Knock. _

There’s a loud tapping that causes the memory to vanish into thin air too quick for him to latch onto the last of it. Wooyoung looks up to see Yeosang side-eyeing him, hand in a fist against the table. The older gives him a leering look for snacking on the rice cakes alone when they both know it’s both of their favorite. “Uh, you bought and didn’t think to get some for me? Rude.”

“I didn’t even go out today, San dropped it off.” Wooyoung clarifies, feeling his ears heat up. Food abandoned, he follows Yeosang to his room like a lost puppy, planning on convincing him to spill some of the details about the memories he doesn’t remember tonight. If he wants to remember what San wants him to, he needs more than what he has right now.

“San didn’t stay?” Yeosang questions him as he’s shrugging his jacket off.

Wooyoung shakes his head, squishing his cheek against the doorframe. “I think he’s upset with me, but I can’t find any reason that makes sense.”

“What makes you think he’s upset with you?”

“He stormed out in the middle of our gaming session a few days ago.” Wooyoung explains with a frown. “But then he comes by and brings me my favorite food after work and now I’m even more confused.”

“After work?” Wooyoung lifts a brow at the confusion in the older’s voice, “He didn’t have work today.”

Wooyoung crinkles his nose, peeling himself off of the doorframe and stepping further into Yeosang’s room. “But he told me he passed by Bimi on his way from from work and that’s why he bought me food.”

Yeosang’s mouth twists, shoulders shrugging. “Well, I’m pretty sure he was off today. He even told me he was glued to his bed all day.”

It seems like the more that people talk to him today, the more confused he gets. “If he didn’t have work then why did he lie? Or even bother going out to get me something? After the way he reacted last time, it doesn’t seem like he’d even want to think about me.”

“I don’t know, just because he’s upset doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to do things for you. Typical thing for a boyfriend to do.” Yeosang says airily, like it’s just casual conversation and that’s how things are. But it makes Wooyoung stop dead in his tracks, cycling through a million emotions a second, legs feeling like they’re going to give out under him at any moment.

“What?”

Yeosang freezes when he sets his eyes on him. Wooyoung watches him swallow, eyes darting away. It’s suspicious, in a way he doesn’t want it to be. He wishes there had been genuine surprise on his face, complete bewilderment because that’s just what the statement was, an accident. It’s _supposed_ to be an accident, but when he looks at the way Yeosang’s face morphs into regret and discomfort, Wooyoung has a feeling that’s not the case at all. “Nothing, I said nothing.”

“Yeah, you did.” He returns, flinching at his own firmness.

“No I didn’t.”

“_Yes_, you did.” Wooyoung insists, hands balling up into fists. Each denial feels like a ten pound weight on his head, because they get more and more artificial, because every no is a huge, boisterous red neon sign with ‘YES’ in capital letters, nudging him in the chest harder and harder each time.

The corner of Yeosang’s mouth twitches, “You’re just hearing things.”

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung clips in a low whisper, with firm persistence. “You called San my_ boyfriend_.”

The other shrugs, arms crossing over his chest, fingers tapping nervously at his elbows. “Yeah, as a joke.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at him. Yeosang would never waste time saying words he didn’t mean, he knows this. “Then why were you getting defensive about it?” Yeosang says nothing to this, which only further agitates him. “_Yeosang._”

The brunette looks like he’s seconds away from making a break from it. But when he finally speaks, it’s not what Wooyoung wants to hear. “I’m not supposed to say anything.” Yeosang’s voice grows quieter each time, as opposed to Wooyoung’s rising anger.

“What do you mean? What the hell is going on here?”

Sighing heavily, the older rucks a hand through his hair, “I think you should just talk to San—”

“Why?” Wooyoung throws his hands up in exasperation, “Why are you acting so serious? Were you telling the truth?”

“I can’t say anything.”

“Bullshit.” Wooyoung sneers harshly, “You need to start giving me answers because my brain is_ this_ close to exploding.” But Yeosang’s silence is answer enough. “So you were serious.” He confirms quietly, and the older keeps his head hanging. After the initial shock comes the incredulous laughter, as he runs a hand down his face. “How are you not refuting this? H-How are you not telling me that I’m out of my fucking _mind _for even asking that?”

“Because you’re not.” Yeosang murmurs, shrinking into himself.

The headache amplifies with each word Yeosang says. When he throws a hand out in his distressed state, he ends up knocking over a box at the edge of Yeosang’s desk, sending a bunch of papers and photos sprawled haphazardly across the floor. Without much thought, he crouches down to clean the mess, but every picture he turns right-side up is a picture of him—more specifically, pictures of him and San. There are dozens of them, at the amusement park, in front the museum, arms slung tightly around each other with preposterously large smiles and nearly non-existent personal space. Yeosang falls to the ground in a panic, but it’s too late for him to salvage the situation when everything is already laid out in front of him.

Wooyoung staggers back a couple steps from the pictures, feeling lightheaded. “Why do you have these…?”

“We weren’t supposed to show you or tell you anything that would give you a big shock. Too much information would overstimulate your brain and cause you severe stress.” Yeosang tries to explain, but Wooyoung isn’t hearing any of it.

“So you hid these from me?” Wooyoung knows that these are likely the things that once filled up the empty space of his corkboard. He’d just never expected them to be, well, this.

“I had to.” There’s guilt in Yeosang’s voice, and it only heightens the rising trepidation in him.

“No…” Wooyoung whispers quietly, “No, no, no…”

Yeosang raises a brow, scrutinizing cautiously. “Why no?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, vision losing its focus. His heart slows and sinks to the ground. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips as he gets up from the floor. “This is all just a big prank isn’t it? This can’t be real.”

Yeosang follows him back up, “So you’re just gonna deny it after pushing me to admit it’s true?”

“This makes no sense, Yeosang!” Wooyoung bursts out, blood pumping feverishly once more. “I-I know I missed a lot of things but this can’t be one of them, you can’t play with me like this just `cause I lost some memories!”

“I’m not playing around Wooyoung, do you think I would?”

“This is ridiculous.” He paces around the room frantically, barely reacting to the pain of tugging at his hair so harshly. “He… he would’ve told me..”

Yeosang sighs as he watches him fall into his desk chair. “What’s this really about Wooyoung?” He asks after Wooyoung has had a bit of time to catch his breath, though he still feels the agitation in his bones. “Being upset that San didn’t tell you, or being scared that it’s true?”

Wooyoung closes his eyes tightly, letting out a shaky breath. “We’re... we’re friends, Yeosang. Really, _really_ good friends. We might bicker and fight a lot but we’re friends, and friends stick up for you and comfort you and…” He pauses, biting harshly on his bottom lip when fear claws at his throat and courses through his veins. “and they stay.”

When he looks at Yeosang, he sees the understanding in his eyes. He uncrosses his arms, tone becoming softer. “This is about Yeonjun, isn’t it?”

He’d rushed into a relationship with Yeonjun in his first year, still on the high of new experiences and spontaneous emotions. Their break up had been relatively mellow, but they didn’t have a strong enough friendship to fall back into after all was said and done. So when they’d parted ways, there was just _nothing_. And Wooyoung doesn’t like nothing, hates that something he’d once loved could be reduced to something practically non-existent.

“Relationships with close friends are dangerous. You know I’ve always seen it that way. You can bounce back from a fight from a friend, but once you’ve broken a relationship, you can almost never get that back, not even the before.”

And maybe San would be different, maybe their years of friendship could salvage such a strain. But chances are risky even when they seem hopeful, and Wooyoung knows damn well that he’ll never be ready to lose San, not now and not ever. Losing San is the most daunting thought he's had. 

“You don’t trust that you guys can push through?”

“I don’t trust _myself_.” Wooyoung answers truthfully, wilting in his seat. ”Just look at all the people who’ve left—”

“And look at all the people who’ve stayed.” Yeosang cuts him off, and Wooyoung’s mouth clamps shut. “You don’t think San hasn’t been having a hard time dealing with this? That he hasn’t spent every waking hour wishing he could hold you in his arms and love you the way he loves you? He stayed through all of that. No one knew how bad the consequences would be, even with the word temporary spelled out for us we didn’t want to hope too much. So even when you reverted back to your arguing and when you can’t remember what you had with him, and even when there’s a possibility that he’s never going to hear the words _I love you_ from you again, he stayed. Because he’d rather push through that hurt and continue to be by your side than lose you. And if that’s not telling, then I don’t know what is.”

“God, why didn’t he tell me?” Wooyoung pushes up from the chair, infuriated. “Why didn’t _any_ of you tell me?”

“We were going to once you started regaining more memories. You’ve said so yourself that it’s overwhelming to try to recall so many things at once—”

“I was talking about things like graduation, how bad of a breakdown I had starting grad school, my fucking car accident, things I actually knew_ existed_. I didn’t think you were hiding a whole _relationship_ from me!”

“Because I know what your mindset was like three years ago!” Yeosang is clearly riled up by now, flushed red, eyebrows knitted together. “I had to watch you recover from your last relationship, watch you drown in your woes and moan about how you were stupid to think you would ever do well with commitment. You punctuated your resolve to never fall for a close friend every fucking day. And to tell you while your memories were still in the timeframe of that mentality that you’ve been dating your _best friend_ for a year?” Yeosang’s laugh is sardonic, almost chilling. “I wasn’t going to put San through your protests or your repulse. And I sure as hell didn’t want to watch you freak your head out like this.”

Wooyoung tugs at his earlobes, pinches his arm, inflicts any kind of sting that’ll pull him out of this. Even after all this, he’s still waiting to wake up.

“I know you’re not mad that he didn’t tell you.” Yeosang, as always, can read him like a book. Even when he tries to hide everything under lock and key, Yeosang will always find a way to unfasten the chains he’d run circles around his heart. “You’re scared because you think you don’t know how to keep good things, and you don’t think you deserve them. But San loves you more than anything else in the world, and for every one thing you hate about yourself I know he’ll come up with a hundred reasons why he loves you. Stop running away, Wooyoung. You ran away for years before this, please don’t do this again. I know how you feel, and what you have with San is one of your most treasured things. I just want you to let yourself be happy.”

As Wooyoung considers his words, things that didn’t fully make sense to him before start to fall into place. The acid to San’s words when Wooyoung had heavily denied any kind of romantic undertones placed on them. The way his friends would always act weird around him but he could never really put a finger on why they were so jumpy, dodging questions whenever they could and placing large emphasis on the present.

And then he’s dashing out of Yeosang’s room into his own, Yeosang following behind him with concern. He rummages through his desk for his memory journal, breathing harshly with periodic sniffling. Hastily, he flips through the pages of incomplete memories and pieces them together with the pictures.

There’s one with him and San holding up peace signs, black and purple bracelets circling their wrists, both possessing the S and W charms. It turns out, San hadn’t lost their bracelet at all, they’d just added each other’s initial to their own. And knowing the situation, San had probably locked the bracelet up to keep hidden from his sight.

Another picture is of the two of them at the bowling alley, San fixing his stance from the back, hand holding onto his. And various are of them at amusement parks in front of that very same castle, matching headbands in each one without failure.

Everything led to him. Every small fragment that tried to break through the barrier, every slip up, every lingering look, every adoring smile. San had inadvertently spelled it out for him from the very start, and Wooyoung could never remember the moments or the words, but he’d never forgotten the feeling.

“Oh my God…” He feels lightheaded, trying to stand up but barely straightening his knees out before he sinks back down to the ground, Yeosang running out to help break his fall. The sound that escapes his mouth is of pure devastation, as every little hint that surfaced over the course of the month unfold in front of him. It becomes nearly impossible to withstand the howling storm waging a war in his chest.

“Wooyoung, just breathe, okay? Breathe..” Yeosang’s soothing whispers and comforting pats help him through the flood of emotions that take over his body, when he finally reaches the edge and the tears start flowing.

The dream he’d woken up from the other day, the vividness, the irrefutable genuineness to it; it hadn’t been a dream at all. It was the last night he remembers before the storm hit. He’d woken up in the middle of January after almost two weeks in a coma—his accident had been near Christmas. And that was the last San had seen of Wooyoung.

The one thing he could never shake off was how San would get weird whenever they passed the royal ballet. He’d written it into his journal with half a page full of question marks, as he’d been so thrown by how hazy and obscured the memory was. It only becomes clear to him as he looks at the picture all bent up beside his journal—the one with San hugging him in front of the concert hall and a rose in Wooyoung’s hand, delight painted on their faces. That place had been special to them, it was somewhere that held an important memory that up until now, only San could remember. The blurred images that invaded his head whenever he saw the building start to become clear, all of the muffled voices start to form coherent sentences. He remembers the confession, he remembers his heart leaping out of his chest, from fear, and relief, and excitement, and _love_. That place had been their first date, where San had told him how he felt about him and officially asked him to be his boyfriend. April 6th.

April 6th.

_Today._

The panic settles into his bones, his head whipping down to his phone to check the time, _11:15_.

He wipes the tears from his face, abruptly getting up from his spot on the floor. Yeosang follows him up with a worried gaze, hands holding onto him to make sure he doesn’t stumble back down. “I-I need to go see him.”

Yeosang doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands or the situation. “Are you sure? You’re a bit too emotional right now and you don’t even have a car..”

Wooyoung shakes his head, ignoring him and reaching for San’s building key at the edge of his desk. “I need to see him. Now.”

In the end, Yeosang gives up in trying to hold him back, because he knows it’s no use; Wooyoung won’t stop, not now. He just tells him to make sure to text or call that he’s gotten there safely and threatens to call the police if he doesn’t hear from him within an hour.

Wooyoung stumbles out of the apartment doors, mismatched slippers and unruly hair sticking out in different directions. He doesn’t know whether to be angry or upset or relieved, he just runs towards the campus residence with tears still threatening to fall. He catches a guy he recognizes as one of San’s friends and slips into the building with him, apologizing for his brief, half-hearted greeting and dashing towards the elevator.

His fingers fumble against the doorbell of San’s dorm, heart still racing and his head so dizzy he’s probably seconds away from collapsing. His breath stutters when the door opens. San is still in his grey hoodie, eyes half-shielded by his hair, but Wooyoung can tell that they’re puffy. The blonde clearly doesn’t expect anyone at this time of night, much less Wooyoung. He squints hard, like he’s trying to determine if his eyes are playing games with him. It takes him a few more long seconds to grasp the situation, and then the confusion amplifies tenfold. A beat. A breath. Hope?

Wooyoung is a nervous wreck, and it’s not the first time, but it’s never been to this extent before. So much of his life has been about being too scared to try, to push himself past the fear of false hopes and broken promises. But so much of San’s has been about treasuring precious things, and persisting through _maybe_’s purely on the measure of his sincerity. If San is willing to give his all, then why shouldn’t he? Wooyoung swallows his fears, drives away his insecurities, and plants his feet on the ground. Yeosang was right, no more running away. This is what he's wanted, this is what happiness meant to him. 

“I want to live the rest of my life loving you.” Wooyoung expels the words like they’re the last ones he’ll ever say, like if the world were to end right now, those would be the only ones that mattered. It shocks San out of his mind, mouth dropping and eyes widening, a myriad of emotions flittering across his face. If he tries to speak, the words don’t make it past his lips, so Wooyoung clarifies himself. “That’s the last thing I said to you.”

San looks horrified—not at the words, but at the very circumstance. And Wooyoung knows exactly what this is, this is San having almost been trained for the past three months to stay within the limits of Wooyoung’s reality. He’d been so used to pretending, that it’s hard for him to believe that any of what’s happening right now is real. And now that Wooyoung is here at his doorstep, with the word _love_ on his lips, the blonde doesn’t know if he should allow himself to see it as the truth.

“_You’re my_ _San_…” He wrings his name out from where it had been lodged in his throat, a shudder rippling through him. He sees the older’s lip start to quiver, eyes filling up to the brim. San lets out the tiniest sob, quiet but impossible to miss, shrinking into himself almost as if he’s too afraid to reach out to him. He looks so small, so broken and delicate, so desperate to be home again.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait a second longer, stepping into the room and wrapping his arms around San, pulling him tightly into his hold. San falls apart instantly, hands grabbing weakly at the sides of his sweater, head falling into his chest as he sobs without restraint. Wooyoung shatters like glass at the shaking boy in his arms, the broken cries that fill the air are like a knife to his chest. But he doesn’t run away, because being here with him is the first time anything has felt truly right. 

For the first time in a long while, Wooyoung feels like he’s home.

Wooyoung wakes up with the warmth of a body pressed against his chest, his arms snaked around a thin waist, and the comfort of San’s soft breathing in front of him. They’d fallen asleep shortly after he showed up, San having cried himself to the point of exhaustion. Wooyoung had held him the whole night, whispering words of love and reassurance into the top of his head.

It hurt to see him like that, to see the damage he’d unknowingly caused. All while he was healing, San had been trekking his own emotional landscape, simultaneously hiking mountains of relief and dancing the edges of anguish in his wait. To think that San had gone on with even the slightest belief that Wooyoung might not remember them again, might never _want_ it again, only intensifies the pain. He never wanted San to feel that way ever again.

The blonde stirs in his sleep, mumbling incoherent words with his soft tired voice and Wooyoung hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this, missed having San next to him when everything else in his life became too much. It takes another minute for the older to wake, blinking owlishly at Wooyoung, who’s staring down at him with an adoring smile. San shifts so that he’s facing him, sliding down so that he isn’t right next to his face, tired eyes looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Hi.” He says faintly, nuzzling into the pillow.

Wooyoung smiles wider, propping himself on his elbow and brushing a stray hair out of San’s face. “Hey.”

San searches his eyes for a few moments, before reaching out a finger to boop him on the nose. Wooyoung makes an amused sound at the action, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Just wanna make sure you’re real.” San explains, hand extending out again to take his chin between his fingers.

“I’m real.” Wooyoung whispers, hand cupping the side of San’s face, a thumb running across his cheek.

It takes a while for either of them to actually make a move to do something after they both complain about being hungry, but eventually it’s San who gets up first. It’s really not much of a trip from the bed to the makeshift kitchen just five steps away from them, so Wooyoung watches as the younger puts together sandwiches for their lunch, pleased with the older’s content humming and head bobs. 

When his head starts to hurt, Wooyoung pushes himself up off of the bed and adjusts the pillows against the wall to sit back against it. The pain in his head isn’t momentary like he’d thought it was, because it comes back again but this time it’s worse, flashes of white in his mind and screeching sounds flooding his ears. Wooyoung sees headlights, feels the fear, and then the impact. It drags a hefty gasp from him, hands shooting up to cover his ears, eyes shutting tight and body twitching.

“Wooyoung?” He hears San’s voice, and then footsteps that bring the blonde back to bed, hands grabbing onto his own. “Wooyoung? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

The impact in his head knocks the breath from his lungs and only gives it back in a few pants at a time. San walks him through the panic, speaking quietly and making sure Wooyoung focuses on his voice and his breathing. It subsides slowly, his inhales becoming longer, and the ache in his chest dwindling off as San rubs his back. San decides not to delve further into it, and Wooyoung is thankful for that, not sure he wants to go into the details of that event just yet.

For the rest of the morning, Wooyoung stays in the comfort of San’s tiny single dorm. Wooyoung tells him about what had happened last night, how he’d found out through Yeosang’s slip up, how for weeks he’d been getting glimpses of past memories he hadn’t known were real until he’d seen the pictures in the box hidden in his best friend’s bedroom that retold his stories to him. How the overwhelming rush of realization put the rest of the puzzle pieces together.

He tells him about the dream he had, the one he’d told San just before he walked out in a moment of hurt. It was the night before his accident, the night he’d said those words to San, the last words San heard from him before the waves had taken him. San jokingly sulks as he recalls the words Wooyoung had said to him after telling him about the dream, “What was it? Something about kissing Seonghwa because he’s Seonghwa but not kissing me because I’m San and _gross_?”

“I did _not_ say that.” Wooyoung defends himself, but shortly after the guilt catches up to him. “I’m sorry for that, though. Even if I was in my scared-of-commitment mindset, I never thought it was a disgusting idea, just… a weird one. A scary one.”

San gives him a reassuring smile, caressing the back of his neck. “Oh, trust me, I know. I know how much you liked me before you even knew you did.” He laughs as he seems to recall something. “That one night I slept over, I don’t know if you even realized you were doing it, but you were staring, _hard_. I was telling a story but I could barely focus because I saw the look in your eyes and it caught me off guard because that was the way you looked at me when you knew me as your boyfriend.”

Wooyoung flushes slightly at that, no amount of fear could make him deny the aura of beauty San radiated. No matter what he felt, or thought he felt about him, San was always beautiful in his eyes. “If you felt that way, why did you sleep in Mingi’s room that night?”

San looks away, humming thoughtfully. “I guess I didn’t trust myself. You would have definitely woken up in the morning with my arms wrapped around you, and I’d probably forget I wasn’t supposed to be your boyfriend and kiss you when you woke up. So I distanced myself, even though sleeping in Mingi’s room felt ridiculously empty.”

Wooyoung’s mouth forms a thin line, understanding why he’d done what he’d done. They sit in silence for a bit, until Wooyoung grabs San’s hand in his. “Was it hard?” He asks even when he knows the answer. Of course it was—the way he broke last night indicated just how much dread gnawed at his insides to keep all of this hidden from him, to hide himself away.

San nods slowly with a pitiful laugh. He draws out a long exhale, idly playing with Wooyoung’s fingers. “The night you woke up I went home and cried until I passed out.” It’s a quiet admittance, one that doesn’t wholly convince Wooyoung that he’s perfectly okay even now. “I didn’t know what to do. And every time I saw you I had to push down the urge to hold you. I had to bite down on my tongue when _I love you’s_ tried to force their way out. I ended up failing that one though. I don't want you to feel bad about it, but it was _so_ hard for me..”

Wooyoung peels himself from the pillows and turns around on the bed to face San, kneeling next to him, hands reaching out to rest of both sides of San’s face. He sighs sluggishly, willing away the stinging sensation in his eyes when he looks at the older. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry you had to go through that.”

San frowns, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer. Wooyoung’s balance is thrown by the movement, hands falling from San’s face to his shoulders to keep himself from bumping heads with the blonde. And it’s like the first time all over again, the proximity, the nervousness bubbling inside of him, his heart leaping in his throat. He remembers how it feels for so much affection to wash over him at the sight of the blonde, remembers how every touch ignites a fire under his skin.

The older’s eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up to meet his eyes. “Is this okay?” Wooyoung stays quiet, words escaping him. San’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, waiting for a response. “Tell me if this is okay.”

Wooyoung’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, searching the pools of sweet chocolate he’d spend hours and hours swimming in, and then dives back in. His lips crash down onto San’s, and he feels a tear escape his eye as the feeling of loving San comes crashing back into him at full speed. He mutters _sorry’s_ between kisses and presses _I love you’s_ to his lips. When they part he pulls away only slightly, forehead resting against San’s. The older has long stopped trying to hold back his tears and lets them stream down his cheeks.

He holds him for what feels like an eternity, wanting to pause time and cherish this moment. "Happy belated anniversary." He whispers, running his thumb over one of his dimples. "I should have said it last night."

San shakes his head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You came back, that's all I needed."

“I love you.” Wooyoung says again, clear and honest. “I love you so much.” He has San’s face in his hands, keeps him steady through his shuddering breaths. He doesn't need to hear the words from San to know, to know that look in his eyes is in full devotion to him. San would always stay, he's always known this. Wooyoung nuzzles against his forehead, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry I ever forgot.”

* * *

To be fair, Wooyoung fully expected for Yeosang to fill Mingi in on all of the happenings of yesterday for him. So when he finally heads home after lunch with San in tow, he doesn’t predict the reprimanding from his taller friend as soon as he walks in the door, eyes wide and filled with worry. “Where the heck have you been?”

Wooyoung freezes in his spot, going stiff in Mingi’s panicking hands. “Uh, I slept over at San’s.”

“Okay but why didn’t either of you tell me?” Mingi scolds him, punching him in the arm. “I didn’t even notice you left your room until like an hour ago when I asked Yeosang where you were and he said you didn’t come home last night.”

He looks over past Mingi to the brunette on the couch, who simply shrugs. “I didn’t talk to him until I got home from work today and even I wasn’t sure what happened when you went.”

“And _you_!” The taller moves on to San, who raises his hands defensively at angry-parent Mingi’s accusing finger. “How come you didn’t text me back when I asked you if Wooyoung was okay?”

“I-I was busy, sorry!” San apologizes, shuffling behind Wooyoung to hide in shame.

“Can you guys just tell us what happened before he strains himself worrying?” Yeosang complains, motioning Mingi over to the couch. Mingi sends them another glare before plopping himself onto the couch and scrunching into himself so he can lay his head on Yeosang’s shoulder.

Wooyoung and San exchange glances before moving to sit on the couch adjacent to their friends. San places a hand on his thigh and squeezes, giving him a smile to go on. “I think I got most of my memories back last night.”

The tall brunette bolts up from Yeosang’s shoulder, spluttering in disbelief. “What?!” His head whips from the two of them to his boyfriend, trying to piece together the situation. He pauses when he lands on them, eyes narrowing skeptically. “This is an April fool’s joke, isn’t it?”

“It’s the seventh.” Yeosang reminds him, but Mingi pays no mind to it, waiting on Wooyoung to answer.

Wooyoung shakes his head, unclenching his fists to allow San’s fingers to lace his. “It started with the bracelet, and then the pictures I found in Yeosang’s room that you guys hid.” Mingi crosses his arms, looking conflicted. Wooyoung chuckles a little. “Do you still not believe it?”

“Not yet.” Mingi answers stubbornly, “Prove it.”

He scoffs, but takes it as a challenge. “Fine. How about I tell everyone about the time you got drunk when you slept over at my house two summers ago and saw a picture of Yeosang and whined about how no one as beautiful and amazing as him would ever fall for someone like you, and then started fantasizing about wanting his pretty little lips around—”

“Okay! That’s enough proof.” Mingi flushes beet red, attempting to disappear into the couch at Yeosang’s teasing laughter. “So, when you went to see San…?”

He nods to confirm, knowing exactly what he wanted to ask him “Yeah. I went begging for him to take me back.”

San giggles, nudging his leg. “You act like I wasn’t already waiting for you with open arms.”

A fond smile pulls at his lips. Wooyoung runs a thumb over San’s hand, relaying dozens of _thank you’s_ with his eyes, and of course, not forgetting to speak one out loud. “Thank you.”

“Wow, this is so great!” Mingi starts clapping, as his signature broad smile finds its way back onto his face. “Now I don’t have to watch San look like a kicked puppy every day or slap a hand over my mouth before I expose anything.”

“I have no idea how you guys did it.” Wooyoung admits, half impressed at how long they’d gone without blurting out unmistakable evidence. “I mean, I was suspicious, but I had no idea you were hiding something_ this_ big from me.”

“It was mostly San’s idea.” Mingi blurts out, then cowers back behind Yeosang when San sneers at him and accuses him of throwing him under the bus.

“Well, I didn’t act rationally when I first found out, so I can’t blame you guys for doing it.” He recalls the vehement denial last night, and feels horrible about it. No wonder they were waiting for more of his memories to resurface; if San were to have witnessed that refutation, Wooyoung doesn’t know how much he would have to do to salvage that.

“Are you okay though?” Yeosang brings another serious matter back to light, “It’s not too overwhelming to be getting everything back so quickly?”

“I still feel pretty lightheaded, and my chest feels like it’s about to burst. But I don’t regret the timing at all.” The fact that he’d just barely made it to their first anniversary is a miracle to him. It would have been devastating if he hadn’t. “It’ll simmer down soon enough. I’m just glad I remember so much more important things now.”

Yeosang tilts his head and smiles warmly, “You’re really strong, you know that?”

And for once, he believes that. There's always going to be regretful yesterdays and terrifying tomorrows. But by living in todays, with San, with Yeosang, with Mingi, with everything he loves and who loves him, forever seems so much more attainable. 

Wooyoung grins, looking at all of his friends and welcoming back tranquility. “That’s all thanks to you guys.”

San bumps his head softly against his, pressing a kiss to his head, and sunshine floods his soul.

* * *

Things are as normal as they can be after the complete mess of a step they’d taken into the new year. Wooyoung finds himself in the small single dorm just a few days later, San having insisted on showing him something after they’d finally had a chance to go out on a proper date. From the bottom drawer of the nightstand he pulls out a small black journal, handing it over to him meekly.

“It’s filled with logs from every day since your accident.” San explains, forming a steeple with his timid fingers. “I wrote something every night, until a few days ago when you showed up.”

For a moment, Wooyoung is almost scared to open it. He knows San had been hurting all this time, but this, this would show him just how much. With a still heart and shallows breaths, he opens the journal, flipping to the first entry.

_It’s my fault. _

_I know somewhere in my heart that it’s not true. But I can’t help but tell myself that. Over and over again. I was there with him, just four hours before it happened. I was there. And I left him. _

_It’s all my fault._

Although he expects something of the sort, it doesn’t hurt any less to read it. San didn’t deserve any kind of blame for what happened, and he wished he known that he was feeling this way, so he could tell him to not be so fucking ridiculous, that Wooyoung would never hate him for leaving that morning.

The following entries talk about how Wooyoung’s condition is, having to face his mom with a heavy heart every time he visits, wanting him to wake up, _desperately _wanting him to wake up. _I miss him_. It’s a sentence he finds in every single entry without fail. _Please, give him back. I miss him. I miss him like crazy and I want him back._

He finally lands on the date he’d woken up, not knowing what to expect out of this entry.

_He’s awake. Fuck, he’s awake and that’s all that matters. _

_He doesn’t remember me. Well, of course he does, but he only remembers three years of me, and it’s not the three years that include us getting together. I don’t know how to feel about it. I want to be happy because fuck, at least he’s alive, at least I get to see those eyes open again. But he doesn’t remember us, and it’s fucking devastating. I wanted to kiss him when he woke up. I wanted to tell him that I miss him and love him for hours on end but when he woke up with that confused look on his face, I couldn’t. _

_I hate having mixed feelings about this. I shouldn’t be anything other than happy right now. But I’ve been crying for 3 hours and the tears haven’t stopped and my writing is smudged because of it and I can’t stop._

_I want to be happy but I’m scared. _

_Will I ever be able to tell him I love him again? _

It’s like the black ink bleeds through every single page just to stain his fingers with ugly reminders of the dreadful fear from that day. Wooyoung chews on his bottom lip, exhaling a shaky breath once he finishes the page. He deduces he hadn’t been the only one scared.

_I haven't told him. Am I doing the right thing hiding it from him? I don't know. All of his friends have to keep the secret too and it's affecting a lot more people than just me but, I just don't know if I can. The last thing he remembers is third year. And third year Wooyoung had an immense hatred for love and commmitment. How could I just go up and tell him 'Hey, don't you remember what we have? I was everything to you.'_

_I can't say for sure if he'll be mad when (if) he remembers, all I know is that I don't want to overwhelm him with terrifying truths. (And I don't want to break myself trying.) _

There are logs of San talking about Wooyoung’s progress with recovery, the little snippets of memories that pop up every now and then. And then there are logs talking about how beautiful he thinks Wooyoung is and how it tortures him that he can’t tell him this without him making a face or suggesting he go to the hospital.

_We were out at night and the moonlight caught his eyes so perfectly. It reminded me so much of that night we met, at a party hosted by some percussion kid I can’t even remember the name of. I was the new kid and Yeosang was the one with the friend who screamed a lot and they were they only ones who noticed I wasn’t comfortable being there._

_ The boy who was always screaming had come up to me with a half-burnt marshmallow at the end of a stick and told me if I lightened up just like the marshmallow then maybe I’d be having a better time. I laughed more than I should have at something that sounded mainly like an insult because the boy at the other end of the stick had a smile brighter than the firelight and eyes stolen from above. _

_And he shined like that every night for six years without fail, and I was so much deeper than gone for him. I wish he could experience it for himself, how amazing it is to see him under the night sky. _

He feels the tears escape his eyes, and he has to close the journal to pull himself together. San pouts at him, gently petting his head. “I thought we were done crying.”

“We were until you showed me this.” Wooyoung whimpers, wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm. He rests his head against San's shoulder, taking his hand in his. He sniffles, clearing his throat. “We should write a new journal together.”

San hums softly, running his fingers through his hair. “About what?”

“About us.” He clarifies, looking up at the blonde. “We can call it _‘things Wooyoung and San did today’_.”

San grins softly, dimples peeking out. “I like that idea.”

Apparently, San has a whole stack of unused journals in the back of his desk drawer, so they can start right away. Wooyoung picks the purple one, immediately signing his name in the _property of _space and letting San sign his after.

_Today San made me cry. It was mean._

_Hey, it’s not like I knew you were going to. And besides, you’d probably be more upset if I never showed you the journal, am I wrong?_

_Very true but you still made me cry so you’re mean. _

_Hey shouldn’t we make our messages a bit more distinguishing?_

** _Okay, I’ll write in bold font_ **

_You’re just using a sharpie now…_

** _Exactly. Bold font_ **

_You're bleeding into the next page but ok. _ _Restarting_

_Today I took Wooyoung out for boba and he literally would not let go of my hand the entire day. He gave the girl at the register cash with the hand that was intertwined with mine and she was like what the fuck but still smiled politely because professionalism and in conclusion Jung Wooyoung is embarrassing. _

** _Hey I let go to grab the change!_ **

_Yeah, and then you intertwined our hands again with the change still in your hand like a weirdo._

** _It’s called a PDA wallet._ **

_As much as I like holding your hand, that’s impractical and it makes your hands smell like metal._

** _You love me._ **

_Do I?_

* * *

** _San won in bowling today and I think it was absolutely rigged for my failure. _ **

_How am I supposed to rig a bowling game?_

** _You're friends with the employees!_ **

_If you're gonna get so butthurt over being horrible at bowling every single time then why do you keep playing?_

** _Because you like it and I like you ):_ **

_..._

_God, I'm so in love with you. _

_Even if you suck at bowling._

* * *

** _Hey San, guess what?_ **

_What?_

** _I’m gonna love you for a good solid forever._ **

_Well._

_I’ll love you even longer. Just try me, Jung Wooyoung._

_☾_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof wow okay this was my first ateez fic, i really hope it's received well. i spent about 4 months on this and i was stuck at 20k for 2 of them, i'm glad this is finally out there! i loved writing woosan, so i hope to put out more works for them in the future
> 
> follow me on twitter for future fic plans and updates! [@joongofficial](https://twitter.com/joongofficial)
> 
> thanks you for reading and please leave feedback if you can, i'd really appreciate it!
> 
> rina ♡


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